tion of all that is peculiar to youth, ever prone─don't be angry with me─to some exaggeration─those opinions of yours are in no way opposed to my own, and, indeed, I am delighted with their youthful enthusiasm!'
Sipyagin talked without the faintest hesitation; his even, rounded speech dropped 'smooth as honey upon oil.'
'My wife shares my way of thinking,' he went on; her views, very likely, approach yours even more closely; that's natural enough; she is younger! When, the day after our meeting, I read your name in the papers─you had published your name with your address, contrary, I may mention in passing, to the ordinary practice, though I had found out your name already at the theatre─well─that─that fact struck me. I saw in it in this coincidence the . . . excuse the superstitious phrase . . . so to say, the finger of fate! You referred to recommendations; but I need no recommendation. Your appearance, your personality attract me. That is enough for me, I am accustomed to believe my eyes. And so—may I reckon on it? You agree?'
'Yes . . . of course . . .' answered Nezhdanov, 'and I will try to justify your confidence; only let me mention one thing now: I am ready to teach your son, but not to look
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