The Gambler and Other Stories by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
By Fyodor Dostoyevsky
The Gambler and different Stories is Fyodor Dostoyevsky's choice of one novella and 6 brief tales reflecting his personal lifestyles - certainly, 'The Gambler', a narrative of a tender instruct within the employment of a previously prosperous Russian basic, used to be written lower than a strict cut-off date so he may repay his roulette bills. This quantity contains 'Bobok', the story of a annoyed author traveling a cemetery and having fun with the gossip of the useless; 'The Dream of a ludicrous Man', the tale of 1 man's plan to devote suicide and the troubling dream that follows, in addition to 'A Christmas social gathering and a Wedding', 'A Nasty Story' and 'The Meek One'.
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Extra info for The Gambler and Other Stories
I guess he could, but every time he went out he met six. He always got the hell beat out of him. He used to come home all covered with blood. He’d sit beside the cook stove. We had to let him alone then. Couldn’t even speak to him or he’d cry. ” He paused. “You know he was a sticker in the slaughter-house. ” Nilson looked quickly at him, and then away. He bent the corner of the application card and creased it down with his thumb nail. ” he asked softly. Jim’s eyes narrowed. “She died a month ago,” he said.
You didn’t get no letters here,” said the woman suspiciously. “No, where I work. I won’t be back. ” Her smile faded slowly. Her expression seemed to slip toward anger without any great change. “You should of give me a week’s notice,” she said sharply. “That’s the rule. ” “I know,” Jim said. “That’s all right. ” The smile was back on the landlady’s face. “You been a good quiet roomer,” she said, “even if you ain’t been here long. If you’re ever around again, come right straight here. I’ll find a place for you.
They were working toward something. I want to work toward something. I feel dead. ” Nilson nodded. “I see. You’re God-damn right I see. ” “Second year in high-school. ” Jim smiled. “I’ve read a lot. My old man didn’t want me to read. He said I’d desert my own people. But I read anyway. One day I met a man in the park. He made lists of things for me to read. Oh, I’ve read a hell of a lot. He made lists like Plato’s Republic, and the Utopia, and Bellamy, and like Herodotus and Gibbon and Macaulay and Carlyle and Prescott, and like Spinoza and Hegel and Kant and Nietzsche and Schopenhauer.