"That's
nothing, my sister; these are all fine people, good comrades.
They'll help you, help us both. Don't mind their having fun at
times and their silly lying. But their hearts are of gold."
"But it's so very awkward for me; I'm ashamed. All of them already
know where you took me from."
"Well, that's nothing, that's nothing! Why, let 'em know!" warmly
contradicted Lichonin. "Why be embarrassed with your past, why try
to pass it by in silence? In a year you'll look bravely and
directly in the eyes of every man and you'll say: 'He who has
never fallen, has never gotten up.' Come on, come on, Liubochka!"
While the inelaborate appetizers were being served, and each one
was ordering the meal, everybody, save Simanovsky, felt ill at
ease and somehow constrained. And Simanovsky himself was partly
the reason for this; he was a clean-shaven man, with pince-nez and
long hair, with head proudly thrown back and with a contemptuous
expression on the tight lips, drooping at the corners. He had no
intimate, hearty friends among his comrades; but his opinions and
judgments had a considerable authoritativeness among them.
Pages:
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365