So she thought
it best to address him as the others did.
Mr. "Abramka" was tall and thin. There was always a melancholy
expression in his pale face. He had a little stoop, a long and very
heavy greyish beard. He had been practising his profession for thirty
years. Ever since his apprenticeship he had been called "Abramka,"
which did not strike him as at all derogatory or unfitting. Even his
shingle read: "Ladies' Tailor: Abramka Stiftik"--the most valid proof
that he deemed his name immaterial, but that the chief thing to him
was his art. As a matter of fact, he had attained, if not perfection
in tailoring, yet remarkable skill. To this all the ladies of the
S---- Regiment could attest with conviction.
Abramka removed his silk hat, stepped into the kitchen, and said
gravely, with profound feeling:
"Mrs. Zarubkin, I am entirely at your service."
"Come into the reception room. I have something very important to
speak to you about."
Abramka followed in silence. He stepped softly on tiptoe, as if afraid
of waking some one.
"Sit down, Abramka, listen--but give me your word of honour, you won't
tell any one?" Tatyana Grigoryevna began, reddening a bit.
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