Dead Souls

by Nikolai Gogol

“The hairy devil

said Nozdryov.

Nozdryov, leading Chichikov

“Ah, the devil take you

met with Nozdryov,

Chichikov replied

Chichikov thought

Nozdryov said,

Chichikov thought.

said Chichikov.

said Nozdryov.

Nozdryov,

Nozdryov,

said Chichikov.

Nozdryov said, flushing.

Chichikov said coolly,

Nozdryov said,

Nozdryov swung his arm

Nozdryov shouted

hold Nozdryov,

Selifan seemed to be waiting

Porfiry and Pavlushka,

shouted Nozdryov,

Nozdryov himself

On the contrary, the fortress was so afraid that its heart sank right into its shoes. Already the chair with which he had thought to defend himself had been torn from his hands by the serfs, already, with eyes shut, more dead than alive, he was preparing to get a taste of his host’s Circassian chibouk, and God knows what was going to happen to him; but it pleased the fates to spare the ribs, the shoulders, and all the polite parts of our hero.

Chichikov,

Nozdryov,

said Nozdryov.

landowner Maximov

Our hero, however, had turned quite properly chicken. Though the britzka was racing along like wildfire, and Nozdryov’s estate had long since rushed from sight, covered by fields, slopes, and hummocks, he still kept looking back in fear, as if he expected at any moment to be swooped upon by the pursuit. He had difficulty catching his breath, and when he tried putting his hand to his heart, he felt it fluttering like a quail in a cage. “Eh, what a hot time he gave me! just look at him!”

😂😂😂

Selifan was thinking

Assessor,

dapple-gray

Selifan felt himself at fault,

The dapple-gray

old lady,

young girl, a sixteen-year-old,

Selifan pulled at the reins,

the dapple-gray

the muzhiks

The muzhiks’ sympathy

Uncle Mityai was

Uncle Mityai

Uncle Minyai

Chichikov was looking very attentively

Selifan, Chichikov,

Wherever in life it may be, whether amongst its tough, coarsely poor, and untidily moldering mean ranks, or its monotonously cold and boringly tidy upper classes, a man will at least once meet with a phenomenon which is unlike anything he has happened to see before, which for once at least awakens in him a feeling unlike those he is fated to feel all his life.

So, too, did the blond girl suddenly, in a completely unexpected manner, appear in our story and also disappear. If, instead of Chichikov, some twenty-year-old youth had happened to be standing there, a hussar, or a student, or simply one starting out on his path in life—then, God! what would not have awakened, stirred, spoken up in him!

devil knows what!”

Sobakevich’s estate