Əvvəlini oxu
His eyes looked at me with delight and supplication, his face was pale. On his beard and mustache were glittering raindrops, and they, too, seemed to be looking at me with love.
His eyes looked at me with delight and supplication, his face was pale. On his beard and mustache were glittering raindrops, and they, too, seemed to be looking at me with love.
"I love you," he said. "I love you, and I am happy at seeing
you. I know you cannot be my wife, but I want nothing, I ask nothing; only know
that I love you. Be silent, do not answer me, take no notice of it, but only
know that you are dear to me and let me look at you."
His rapture affected me too; I
looked at his enthusiastic face, listened to his voice which mingled with the patter of the rain, and stood as though spellbound, unable to stir.
I longed to go on endlessly looking at his shining eyes and listening.
"You say nothing, and that is splendid," said Pyotr Sergeyitch.
"Go on being silent."
I felt happy. I laughed with delight and ran through the drenching rain to
the house; he laughed too, and, leaping
as he went, ran after me.
Both drenched, panting, noisily clattering up the stairs like children, we dashed into the room. My father and
brother, who were not used to seeing me laughing and light-hearted, looked at
me in surprise and began laughing too.
The storm-clouds had passed over and the thunder had ceased, but the
raindrops still glittered on Pyotr Sergeyitch's beard. The whole evening till
supper-time he was singing, whistling, playing noisily with the dog and racing
about the room after it, so that he nearly upset the servant with the samovar.
And at supper he ate a great deal, talked nonsense, and maintained that when
one eats fresh cucumbers in winter there is the fragrance of spring in one's
mouth.
When I went to bed I lighted a candle and threw my window wide open, and an
undefined feeling took possession of my soul. I remembered that I was free and
healthy, that I had rank and wealth, that I was beloved; above all, that I had
rank and wealth, rank and wealth, my God! how nice that was! . . . Then, huddling
up in bed at a touch of cold which reached me from the garden with the dew, I
tried to discover whether I loved Pyotr Sergeyitch or not, . . . and fell
asleep unable to reach any conclusion.
supplication
|
yalvarış
|
beard
|
saqqal
|
mustache
|
bığ
|
rapture
|
vəcd (valeh olmaq)
|
mingle
|
qarşmaq
|
patter
|
pıtırtı
|
spellbound
|
tilsimlənmiş
|
stir
|
qımıldatmaq
|
leaping
|
hoppana-hoppana
|
dash
|
cummaq
|
dew
|
şeh
|
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