ANTON CHEKHOV

VOLODYA

A plain, shy, sicky-looking lad of seventeen, was sitting in the arbour of the Shumihin’s country villa, feeling dreary.

His despondent thought flowed in three directions.

Was a continual source of mortification to his amour-propre.

He had on one occasion accidentally overheard Madame Shumihin, in the verandah,...

Every day Volodya besought his maman not to go to the Shumihin’s, and drew a picture of the humiliating part she played with this gentlefork.

And always gravitated towards acquaintances of high rank…

And twice a week Volodya had to accompany her to the villa he hated.

THE BET

It was a dark autumn night. The old banker was pacing from corner to corner of his study, recalling to his mind the party he gave in the autumn fifteen years ago.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a pay phone on the street, those things are so obsolete.