The Witch and other stories by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
page 16 of 274 (05%)
page 16 of 274 (05%)
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"You ought to have a cup of tea..." she said.
"I wouldn't say no... but, you see, they're getting ready," he assented. "We are late, anyway." "Do stay," she whispered, dropping her eyes and touching him by the sleeve. The postman got the knot undone at last and flung the hood over his elbow, hesitating. He felt it comfortable standing by Raissa. "What a... neck you've got!..." And he touched her neck with two fingers. Seeing that she did not resist, he stroked her neck and shoulders. "I say, you are..." "You'd better stay... have some tea." "Where are you putting it?" The driver's voice could be heard outside. "Lay it crossways." "You'd better stay.... Hark how the wind howls." And the postman, not yet quite awake, not yet quite able to shake off the intoxicating sleep of youth and fatigue, was suddenly overwhelmed by a desire for the sake of which mail-bags, postal trains... and all things in the world, are forgotten. He glanced at the door in a frightened way, as though he wanted to escape or hide himself, seized Raissa round the waist, and was just bending over the lamp to put out |
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