Why, sometimes I
never see her for hours together."
"Well, at least she does not quarrel with every one, as my mother does,"
said a Polish gentleman, M. Lichinsky. "Nearly every day she has a
quarrel with some one or other; and then she comes to me and says she
has been insulted. And others come to me mad with rage, and complain
that they have been insulted by her. As though I were to blame! I tell
them that now. I tell them that my mother's quarrels are not my quarrels.
But one longs for peace. And the Doctor says I must have it, and that
my mother must go home at once. If I tell her that, she will have a
tremendous quarrel with the Doctor. As it is, he will scarcely speak to
her. So you see, Mademoiselle Gerardy, that I, too, am in a bad plight.
What am I to do?"
Then a young American spoke. He had been getting gradually worse since
he came to Petershof, but his brother, a bright sturdy young fellow,
seemed quite unconscious of the seriousness of his condition.
"And what am I to do?" he asked pathetically. "My brother does not even
think I am ill. He says I am to rouse myself and come skating and
tobogganing with him. Then I tell him that the Doctor says I must lie
quietly in the sun.
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