Miry
by Anton Chekhov(1860-1904)
"To whom shall I tell my grief?"
The twilight of evening. Big flakes of wet snow are whirling lazily about the street lamps, which have just been lighted, and lying in a thin soft layer on roofs, hors' backs, shoulders, caps. Iona Potapov, the sledge-driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent. If a regular snowdrift fell on him it ems as though even then he would not think it necessary to shake His little mare is white and motionless too. Her stillness, the angularity of her lines, and the stick-like straightness of her legs make her look like a halfpenny gingerbread hor. She is probably lost in thought. Anyone who has been torn away from the plough, from the familiar gray landscapes, and cast into this slough, full of monstrous lights, of unceasing uproar and hurrying people, is bound to think.
It is a long time since Iona and his nag have budged. They came out of the yard before dinnertime and not a single fare yet. But now the shades of evening are falling on the town. The pale light of the street lamps changes to a vivid color, and the bustle of the street grows noisier.
生产车间管理方案 "Sledge to Vyborgskaya!" Iona hears. "Sledge!"
Iona starts, and through his snow-plastered eyelashes es an officer in a military overcoat with a hood over his head.
"To Vyborgskaya," repeats the officer. "Are you asleep? To Vyborgskaya!"
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In token of asnt Iona gives a tug at the reins which nds cakes of snow flying from the hor's back and shoulders. The officer gets into the sledge. The sledge-driver clicks to the hor, cranes his neck like a swan, ris in his at, and more from habit than necessity brandishes his whip. The mare cranes her neck, too, crooks her stick-like legs, and hesitatingly
"Where are you shoving, you devil?" Iona immediately hears shouts from the dark mass shifting to and fro before him. "Where the devil are you going? Keep to the r-right!"
"You don't know how to drive! Keep to the right," says the officer angrily.
护理级别 A coachman driving a carriage swears at him; a pedestrian crossing the road and brushing the hor's no with his shoulder looks at him angrily and shakes the snow off his sleeve. Iona fidgets on the box as though he were sitting on thorns, jerks his elbows, and turns his eyes about like one possd as though he did not know where he was or why he was there.
"What rascals they all are!" says the officer jocoly. "They are simply doing their best to run up against you or fall under the hor's feet. They must be doing it on purpo."
Iona looks as his fare and moves Apparently he means to say something, but nothing comes but a sniff.
"What?" inquires the officer.
Iona gives a wry smile, and straining his throat, brings out huskily: " er... my son died this week, sir."
"H'm! What did he die of?"
Iona turns his whole body round to his fare, and says:
"Who can tell! It must have been He lay three days in the hospital and then God's will."月子早餐吃什么好
"Turn round, you devil!" comes out of the darkness. "Have you gone cracked, you old dog? Look where you are going!"
"Drive on! drive on!... " says the officer. "We shan't get there till to-morrow going on like this. Hurry up!"商业保密协议
The sledge-driver cranes his neck again, ris in his at, and with heavy grace swings his whip. Several times he looks round at the officer, but the latter keeps his eyes shut an
d is apparently disinclined to listen. Putting his fare down at Vyborgskaya, Iona stops by a restaurant, and again sits huddled up on Again the wet snow paints him and his hor white. One hour pass, and
猜猜这是谁 Three young men, two tall and thin, one short and hunchbacked, come up, railing at each other and loudly stamping on the pavement with their goloshes.
"Cabby, to the Police Bridge!" the hunchback cries in a cracked voice. "The three of us,... twenty kopecks!"
Iona tugs at the reins and clicks to his hor. Twenty kopecks is not a fair price, but he has no thoughts for that. Whether it is a rouble or whether it is five kopecks does not matter to him now so long as he has The three young men, shoving each other and using bad language, go up to the sledge, and all three try to sit down at once. The question remains to be ttled: Which are to sit down and which one is to stand? After a l
ong altercation, ill-temper, and abu, they come to the conclusion that the hunchback must stand becau he is the shortest.
