In winter, too, they got along nicely together. They leased a theatre
in the town for the whole winter and sublet it for short periods to a
Little Russian theatrical company, to a conjuror and to the local
amateur players.
Olenka grew fuller and was always beaming with contentment; while
Kukin grew thinner and yellower and complained of his terrible losses,
though he did fairly well the whole winter. At night he coughed, and
she gave him raspberry syrup and lime water, rubbed him with eau de
Cologne, and wrapped him up in soft coverings.
"You are my precious sweet," she said with perfect sincerity, stroking
his hair. "You are such a dear."
At Lent he went to Moscow to get his company together, and, while
without him, Olenka was unable to sleep. She sat at the window the
whole time, gazing at the stars. She likened herself to the hens that
are also uneasy and unable to sleep when their rooster is out of the
coop. Kukin was detained in Moscow. He wrote he would be back during
Easter Week, and in his letters discussed arrangements already for the
Tivoli. But late one night, before Easter Monday, there was an
ill-omened knocking at the wicket-gate.
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