The lone wolf got up.
Hit it, hit it, the man said in a crazy voice, hit it, hit it, the little girl jumped up and stared at him, hit it, hit it.
Shut up. The ranger took two steps forward with a drink.
Forget it, forget it, Fuma. I shouted, spare him and let him go.
I just want to talk about the unlucky man. If you keep talking about it, it’s a dead man. Why don’t you die, you murderer and beast? But wait. You won’t be down in power for long. Someone will hang you. Wait.
The lone wolf grabbed his shoulder and I rushed to rescue him.
Don’t move, sir. The ranger shouted at me
I’m not afraid of his scare and I have reached out, but I’m very surprised that he tore off the man’s arm belt, grabbed his collar, buckled his hat to his eye sliding door and pushed him away.
Take your horse and get out of here, he called after him, but you should be careful. I want it.
He returned to the house and groped in the corner.
Oh, lone wolf, I’m surprised that I finally said you are true. It seems to me that you are really a wonderful person.
Oh, come on, sir, he interrupted me annoyingly, saying that you don’t want to go, but I’d better send you away. He also said that it seems that you can’t wait for this light rain to stop for a while.
The yard rang with the man’s carriage rolling.
I want to pick him up after listening to him leave his novel.
Half an hour later, he broke up with me at the edge of the forest.
singer
Originally published in the 11th issue of Modern People’s Magazine in 185, it was highly praised by the editorial department of Modern People’s Magazine. In his letter to Viardot, Turgenev also said that success exceeded his expectations.
Little Kolotov village belongs to a female landlord, whose main reason is fierce and fierce by nature. In the neighborhood, she got a nickname called scraping woman, but her real name has been lost. Now a German in Petersburg has lost the village. This village is pitted by a terrible gully on a bare hillside. This gully is pitted and pitted like an abyss, and it twists and turns from the center of the street through a river that is more affectionate than the river. It divides the poor village into two halves, and a few clusters of thin firecrackers are hung on the sandy gully slope and dry like brass. Generally, the bottom of the ditch is a piece of clay slate, and the scene is not very beautiful. This is needless to say, but people nearby are very familiar with the roads in Kolotov Village, and they often come here.
At the gully head, just a few steps away from the gully head like a small crack, a square cabin is alone with other houses. The roof is covered with wheat straw and a chimney. A window looks like a sharp eye. Looking at the gully in winter, you can see this light window in the hazy cold fog. It flashes like a guiding star to many passing farmers. A blue wooden sign is nailed to the door frame of the hut. This hut is a hotel called Anleju. It is not necessarily cheaper to sell wine in this hotel than the prescribed price. However, the reason is that there are many customers in similar shops nearby.
Nikolai Ivanchi used to be a tall and straight guy with rosy cheeks and curly hair, but now he is an extremely fat man with white hair, beefy face, fine eyes and smooth forehead. He has lived in Kolotov Village for more than 20 years. Nikolai Ivanchi, like most hotel owners, is a clever schemer. He is not particularly diligent or articulate, but he attracts customers to keep them and leads them to sit in front of his counter. Although he is very sharp, he is peaceful and close. I feel happy when I don’t know everything. He has a lot of true opinions. He is familiar with the life of landlords and farmers and citizens. When others are in trouble, he will give them very good ideas. But he is a cautious private person, so he would rather talk casually about some opinions and let his customers and his customers do nothing.
He is interested in everything that Russians value. He is good at horses, livestock, forests, bricks and tiles, utensils, cloth, woolen leather, songs and dances. When there are no customers, he often rolls up his thin legs and sits in front of his door like a sack, greeting all passers-by and talking about intimacy.
He has seen a lot of things in his life. He has watched dozens of small nobles who often come to buy wine from him die one after another. He knows all kinds of things happening around 100 miles. Even the most alert police chief never thought of things, but he never talks nonsense or shows his knowledge. He always smiles and moves his glasses. Neighbors respect him. Every time Zinko, the highest landlord and senior civil servant in his county, puts a rack and nods to him.
Nikolai Ivanchi is an influential person. horse thief stole a horse from his friend. Mata told the thief to return the horse to a farmer in a nearby village. He also guided them to do a lot of such things, but don’t. He did these things out of love and enthusiasm for others. He didn’t try to prevent anything from disturbing his peace. Nikolai Ivanchi has married, and his wife is a quick-witted ordinary citizen. Recently, she has gained some weight like her husband. He trusts her money in all aspects. It is also because of her hiding drunkenness that crazy people are afraid of her. She doesn’t, they can’t make much money from them, but they are noisy but very noisy. People who are sad and quiet are more in her mind. Nikolai Ivanchi’s children are still young, and several children who were born earlier have died, but they all look like their parents. It is very happy to look at these healthy children’s bright faces.
On an uncomfortably hot day in July, I slowly strode along with my dog along the ditch in Kolotov Village and walked towards the Anleju Hotel. The sun was burning like crazy, and the air was full of hot dust and shiny feathers. The white-billed crow looked piteously at the pedestrians with its mouth wide open, as if asking people to sympathize with the sparrows, but it didn’t feel painful. The feathers were called more than before, and they fought in the fence for a while, and then they flew together from the dusty road like gray clouds. I’m so thirsty that there is no water nearby in Kolotov village, like in many other grass villages. Because there is no spring water, farmers drink muddy water in the pond, but who can call this disgusting thing water? I just want to ask Nikolai Ivanchi for a beer or Kvas.
To tell the truth, there is nothing pleasing to the eye in Kolotov Village at any time, but what makes people feel sad is the dazzling sunshine in July, the shabby brown roof, the deep gully that is brown and dusty, the grassland that walks around with despair, the long legs and thin chickens come to the landlord’s house, the gray poplar roof truss, the patches of nettle weed Artemisia argyi around the window hole are hot and black with a layer of goose feathers floating around the pond, and the semi-dry mud around the pond is tilted to one side of the dam and stepped into thin pieces. The dusty land is so hot that it sneezes and breathes, and the sheep are so pitiful that they huddle together, and their heads are desperately lowered, as if waiting for this unbearable heat to pass, and that frustrated and patient attitude will pass.
I walked wearily to the front of Nikolai Ivanchi Hotel, which caused the children to be surprised and stare blankly as usual, and also caused several dogs to be indignant. The indignation was barking to show that the barking was fierce and hard, as if the dirt was about to burst, and after barking for a while, I coughed and gasped. At this moment, a tall man suddenly appeared at the door of the hotel without a hat and a thick coat, and his light blue belt was tied low. It was a domestic servant with a dry and wrinkled face and thick gray hair standing in a mess. He was calling for a man to wave his hands and shake them obviously.
Come on, he mumbled with thick eyebrows. Come on, blink. What are you dawdling about, man? This is not good, man. People are waiting for you, but you are dawdling like this.
Oh, here comes a snoring sound, and then a short, fat and lame man walks from the right side of the house. He is wearing a fairly clean tweed coat and a tall pointed hat until it reaches his eyebrows, adding a funny expression to his round and fat face. His small yellow eyes are going round and round, and his thin lips are piled with formality, or he smiles. His pointed long nose stretches forward very unsightly like a rudder, man. He limps to the hotel and says, what do you want me to do? Who is waiting for me?
What did I ask you to do? The man in the thick coat said with a reproachful wink. You are a strange man. The man asked you to come to the hotel. Why do you have to ask? Many people are waiting for you. The Turk Yashka also came to Zidela to work as a contractor. Yashka made a bet on a bottle of beer to see who won and who sang well. Do you understand?
Is Yashka going to sing? The nickname Blinking Eye said excitedly that you are not lying, are you stupid?
I don’t lie, fool. You just talk nonsense once and for all. Since he made a bet, he must sing you born stupid cow, you son of a bitch.
Ok, let’s go, replied the blink of an eye
Oh, then you should kiss me less, my good baby, muttered the idiot with his arms open
Look at you, charming baby Aesop Aesop, a famous ancient Greek fable writer. In old Russia, it used to be ironic that words make people blink and push him contemptuously. Then they both bent down and walked into the low door.
I couldn’t help but have a strong curiosity when I heard their conversation. I have heard more than once that Yashka, a Turk, is the best singer in the neighborhood. Now I have a chance to listen to another singer’s competition, so I stepped into the hotel.
Probably not many people have visited the country hotel in my reading, but we haven’t been anywhere for hunting. This kind of hotel is extremely simple in structure, and most of them are made up of a dark front room chimney house. The wall is divided into the inside and the outside, and customers can’t go on this wall. There is a big rectangular hole in the oak table, and wine is sold at this table or counter. There are various sealed bottles, large and small, side by side in front of the big hole frame. The first half of the wine house is for receiving customers. A number of long benches, two or three wine barrels are placed at the corner table. Most of the country hotels are
When I walked into the comfort zone hotel, there were already many people inside.
Behind the counter, as usual, Nikolai Ivanchi, wearing a printed shirt and a fat face with a lazy smile, poured two glasses of wine to his friend who just came in. In the corner behind him, near the window, his eyes were bright. In the center of his wife’s room was a Turk Yashka, a thin and tall man of twenty-three or four years old, wearing a long-sleeved homespun blue coat. He looked like a brave young man in a factory. His body seemed to be not very strong. His shriveled cheeks were gray and refused to be quiet. He has big eyes, moving nose and nose, small nostrils, flat forehead, and brushing back pale yellow curls, big, beautiful and expressive lips. His face shows everything. He is a sensitive and enthusiastic person. He is very excited and blinks his eyes, and his breathing is very urgent. His hands are shaking like a fever. He is a fever, that is, people who speak or sing in front of the crowd often get that kind of nervous and sudden fever.
Next to him was a man of about forty years old, with broad shoulders, high cheekbones and a low head like a Tatar. His eyes were narrow, his nose was short, his nose was flat and square, his hair was black and shiny, his hair was as hard as a mane, and his dark and leaden face, especially his white lips, was not so calm. It was almost fierce. He almost did not move, but looked around him slowly like a bull from the yoke. He wore an old ritual copper button and wore an old black silk scarf. He was called Mr. Savage.
On the bench opposite him sat Yashika duet singer Zizdelai, the contractor. This is a stocky lion with a pockmarked face, curly hair and a flat nose in his thirties, and his chestnut eyes are sparse. He tucked his hands under his thighs, and his legs in beautiful rolled leather boots rattled from the ground. He was wearing a brand-new cotton wool collar and gray tweed thin coat, and his throat was tight. The edge of a red shirt was set off by a cotton wool collar, which made him look abnormal. In the opposite corner, a farmer sat at the table on the right side of the door. There is a big hole in the shoulder of an old robe, and the sun shines like thin yellow water through two small windows and dusty glass. It seems that it can’t overcome the usual darkness in the room. Everything is weak and dark, but it is almost cool in the room. As soon as I step into the threshold, I will release the burden, and the feeling of tightness and heat disappears.
It seems that Nikolai Ivanchi’s customers were a little uneasy at first when I arrived, but as soon as they saw Nikolai Ivanchi greeting me like an acquaintance, they felt at ease and stopped paying attention to me. I ordered beer and sat down next to the man in the shabby robe in the corner.
