The Wife, and other stories by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
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page 11 of 272 (04%)
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jerkiness in her words and movements irritated me and reminded me of her
native town--Odessa, where the society, men and women alike, had wearied me by its bad taste. "I want to do something for the famine-stricken peasants," I began, and after a brief pause I went on: "Money, of course, is a great thing, but to confine oneself to subscribing money, and with that to be satisfied, would be evading the worst of the trouble. Help must take the form of money, but the most important thing is a proper and sound organization. Let us think it over, my friends, and do something." Natalya Gavrilovna looked at me inquiringly and shrugged her shoulders as though to say, "What do I know about it?" "Yes, yes, famine..." muttered Ivan Ivanitch. "Certainly... yes." "It's a serious position," I said, "and assistance is needed as soon as possible. I imagine the first point among the principles which we must work out ought to be promptitude. We must act on the military principles of judgment, promptitude, and energy." "Yes, promptitude..." repeated Ivan Ivanitch in a drowsy and listless voice, as though he were dropping asleep. "Only one can't do anything. The crops have failed, and so what's the use of all your judgment and energy?... It's the elements.... You can't go against God and fate." "Yes, but that's what man has a head for, to contend against the elements." "Eh? Yes... that's so, to be sure.... Yes." |
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