"All wight! All wight!" shouted Denisov.
" It's no good making excuses now! It's your turn to sing the ba'cawolla--I entweat you!" The countess glanced at her silent son.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing," said he, as if weary of being continually asked the same question.
" Will Papa be back soon?" "I expect so.

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