Smiling ecstatically, Bronsky sat down on the revolving stool "Kindly explain something to me," Persikov began.
You write for those newspapers of yours, don't you?" "That is so," Alfred replied respectfully.
Well, what I can't understand is how you can write if you can't even speak Russian properly.
What do you mean by 'a sec or two' and 're the fowls'?" Bronsky gave a thin, respectful laugh.
Valentin Petrovich corrects it." "And who might Valentin Petrovich be?" "The head of the literary section." "Oh, well.
I'm not a philologist anyway.
Now, leaving aside that Petrovich of yours, what exactly do you wish to know about fowls?" "Everything you can tell me, Professor." At this point Bronsky armed himself with a pencil.
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