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Kuprin, A. I. (Aleksandr Ivanovich), 1870-1938

"Yama: the pit"


Horizon would look over his shoulder, nudge him with his elbow,
and whisper:
"Tell me, ain't that swell, now? Why, this is genuine Parisian and
Viennese chic!"
The sub-lieutenant looked through the whole collection from the
beginning to the end. When he was giving back the little box, his
hand was shaking, his temples and forehead were moist, his eyes
had dimmed, and over his cheeks had mantled a blush, mottled like
marble.
"But do you know what?" Horizon exclaimed gaily, all of a sudden.
"It's all the same to me--the Indian sign has been put upon me. I,
as they used to say in the olden times, have burned my ships ... I
have burned all that I used to adore before. For a long time
already I've been looking for an opportunity to pass these cards
on to some one. I ain't especially chasing after a price. You wish
to acquire them, mister officer?"
"Well, now ... I,--that is ... Why not? ... Let's ..."
"That's fine! On account of such a pleasant acquaintanceship, I'll
take fifty kopecks apiece. What, is that expensive? Well, what's
the difference, God be with you! I see you're a travelling man, I
don't want to rob you; let it go at thirty, then.


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