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Project Gutenberg's The Cook's Wedding and Other Stories, by Anton Chekhov This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Cook's Wedding and Other Stories Author: Anton Chekhov Release Date: September 9, 2004 [EBook #13417] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COOK'S WEDDING AND OTHER *** Produced by James Rusk THE TALES OF CHEKHOV VOLUME 12 THE COOK'S WEDDING AND OTHER STORIES BY ANTON TCHEKHOV Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT CONTENTS THE COOK'S WEDDING SLEEPY CHILDREN THE RUNAWAY GRISHA OYSTERS HOME A CLASSICAL STUDENT VANKA AN INCIDENT A DAY IN THE COUNTRY BOYS SHROVE TUESDAY THE OLD HOUSE IN PASSION WEEK WHITEBROW KASHTANKA A CHAMELEON THE DEPENDENTS WHO WAS TO BLAME? THE BIRD MARKET AN ADVENTURE THE FISH ART THE SWEDISH MATCH THE COOK'S WEDDING GRISHA, a fat, solemn little person of seven, was standing by the kitchen door listening and peeping through the keyhole. In the kitchen something extraordinary, and in his opinion never seen before, was taking place. A big, thick-set, red-haired peasant, with a beard, and a drop of perspiration on his nose, wearing a cabman's full coat, was sitting at the kitchen table on which they chopped the meat and sliced the onions. He was balancing a saucer on the five fingers of his right hand and drinking tea out of it, and crunching sugar so loudly that it sent a shiver down Grisha's back. Aksinya Stepanovna, the old nurse, was sitting on the dirty stool facing him, and she, too, was drinking tea. Her face was grave, though at the same time it beamed with a kind of triumph. Pelageya, the cook, was busy at the stove, and was apparently trying to hide her face. And on her face Grisha saw a regular illumination: it was burning and shifting through every shade of colour, beginning with a crimson purple and ending with a deathly white. She was continually catching hold of knives, forks, bits of wood, and rags with trembling hands, moving, grumbling to herself, making a clatter, but in reality doing nothing. She did not once glance at the table at which they were drinking tea, and to the questions put to her by the nurse she gave
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