And I am flabby, and
my malice is flabby ... I'll see some little boy again, will have
pity on him, will be punishing myself again ... No, it's better
... better so! ..."
She became silent. And Platonov did not know what to say. It
became oppressive and awkward for both. Finally, Jennka got up,
and, without looking at Platonov, extended her cold, feeble hand
to him.
"Good-bye, Sergei Ivanovich! Excuse me, that I took up your time
... Oh, well, I can see myself that you'd help me, if you only
could ... But, evidently, there's nothing to be done here ...
Good-bye!"
"Only don't do anything foolish, Jennechka! I implore you! ..."
"Oh, that's all right!" said she and made a tired gesture with her
hand.
Having come out of the square, they parted; but, having gone a few
steps, Jennka suddenly called after him:
"Sergei Ivanovich, oh Sergei Ivanovich! ..."
He stopped, turned around, walked back to her.
"Roly-Poly croaked last evening in our drawing room. He jumped and
he jumped, and then suddenly plumped down ... Oh, well, it's an
easy death at least! And also I forgot to ask you, Sergei
Ivanovich .
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