C.J. Hogarth

Why do you write thus about “comfort” and “peace” and the rest? I am not a

fastidious man, nor one who requires much. Never in my life have I been so comfortable as now. Why, then, should I complain in my old age? I have enough to

eat, I am well dressed and booted

Whether or not Phaldoni has any other name I do not know, but at least he answers to this one, and every one calls him by it.

How I would embrace the old woman in transports of joy! After dressing me, and

wrapping me up, she would find that she could scarcely keep pace with me on the

way home, so full was I of chatter and tales about one thing and another. Then, when I had arrived home merry and lighthearted, how fervently I would embrace

my parents, as though I had not seen them for ten years. Such a fussing would

whenever he had received his fees for this extra work, he would hasten off and purchase more books

How far my grief was internally connected with my conceit I do not know

the better to bear the disappointment which was seething in his breast, the better to help him not to show it

I must here remark that he never could bear to have his possessions tampered
with. Woe to the person, in particular, who touched his books!

For three whole days I found myself unable to raise my eyes to his, but blushed always to the point of weeping.

a strange feeling of excitement was preventing me from sleeping, and I could not rest long in any one
spot, but had to keep rising from my chair, and walking about the room.
Throughout my whole being there seemed to be diffused a kind of elation — of elation at Pokrovski’s attentions, at the thought that he was anxious and uneasy about me. Until dawn I pondered and dreamed; and though I felt sure Pokrovski
would not again visit us that night, I gave myself up to fancies concerning what he
might do the following evening.

time, I could see with secret joy and a sense of proud elation that I was leading him to forget his tiresome books.