What's the court? Why not Siberia at hard labour, or even the
scaffold? Ha, ha, ha!"
It was the same on the third day.
Olenka listened to Kukin seriously, in silence. Sometimes tears would
rise to her eyes. At last Kukin's misfortune touched her. She fell in
love with him. He was short, gaunt, with a yellow face, and curly hair
combed back from his forehead, and a thin tenor voice. His features
puckered all up when he spoke. Despair was ever inscribed on his face.
And yet he awakened in Olenka a sincere, deep feeling.
She was always loving somebody. She couldn't get on without loving
somebody. She had loved her sick father, who sat the whole time in his
armchair in a darkened room, breathing heavily. She had loved her
aunt, who came from Brianska once or twice a year to visit them. And
before that, when a pupil at the progymnasium, she had loved her
French teacher. She was a quiet, kind-hearted, compassionate girl,
with a soft gentle way about her. And she made a very healthy,
wholesome impression. Looking at her full, rosy cheeks, at her soft
white neck with the black mole, and at the good naive smile that
always played on her face when something pleasant was said, the men
would think, "Not so bad," and would smile too; and the lady visitors,
in the middle of the conversation, would suddenly grasp her hand and
exclaim, "You darling!" in a burst of delight.
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