HEARTACHE by Anton Chekhov"To whom

HEARTACHE by Anton Chekhov

"To whom shall I tell my grief?"

THE twilight of evening. Big flakes of wet snow are whirling lazily about the street lamps, which have just been lighted, and lying in a thin soft layer on roofs, horses' backs, shoulders, caps. Iona Potapov, the sledge- driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent. If a regular snowdrift fell on him it seems as though even then he would not think it necessary to shake it off.... His little mare is white and motionless too. Her stillness, the angularity of her lines, and the stick-like straightness of her legs make her look like a halfpenny gingerbread horse. She is probably lost in thought. Anyone who has been torn away from the plough, from the familiar gray landscapes, and cast into this slough, full of monstrous lights, of unceasing uproar and hurrying people, is bound to think.

It is a long time since Iona and his nag have budged. They came out of the yard before dinnertime and not a single fare yet. But now the shades of evening are falling on the town. The pale light of the street lamps changes to a vivid color, and the bustle of the street grows noisier.

"Sledge to Vyborgskaya!" Iona hears. "Sledge!"

Iona starts, and through his snow-plastered eyelashes sees an officer in a military overcoat with a hood over his head.

"To Vyborgskaya," repeats the officer. "Are you asleep? To Vyborgskaya!"

In token of assent Iona gives a tug at the reins which sends cakes of snow flying from the horse's back and shoulders. The officer gets into the sledge. The sledge-driver clicks to the horse, cranes his neck like a swan, rises in his seat, and more from habit than necessity brandishes his whip. The mare cranes her neck, too, crooks her stick-like legs, and hesitatingly sets of....

ผลลัพธ์ (ไทย) 1:

HEARTACHE by Anton Chekhov"To whom shall I tell my grief?"THE twilight of evening. Big flakes of wet snow are whirling lazily about the street lamps, which have just been lighted, and lying in a thin soft layer on roofs, horses' backs, shoulders, caps. Iona Potapov, the sledge- driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent. If a regular snowdrift fell on him it seems as though even then he would not think it necessary to shake it off.... His little mare is white and motionless too. Her stillness, the angularity of her lines, and the stick-like straightness of her legs make her look like a halfpenny gingerbread horse. She is probably lost in thought. Anyone who has been torn away from the plough, from the familiar gray landscapes, and cast into this slough, full of monstrous lights, of unceasing uproar and hurrying people, is bound to think.It is a long time since Iona and his nag have budged. They came out of the yard before dinnertime and not a single fare yet. But now the shades of evening are falling on the town. The pale light of the street lamps changes to a vivid color, and the bustle of the street grows noisier."Sledge to Vyborgskaya!" Iona hears. "Sledge!"Iona starts, and through his snow-plastered eyelashes sees an officer in a military overcoat with a hood over his head."To Vyborgskaya," repeats the officer. "Are you asleep? To Vyborgskaya!"In token of assent Iona ให้ tug ที่ไตซึ่งส่งเค้กของหิมะบินจากม้าหลังและไหล่ เจ้าหน้าที่ที่ได้รับไปสเลดจ์ ไดรเวอร์สเลดจ์คลิม้า เครนคอของเขาเช่นสวอน มานั่งของเขา และมากขึ้น จากนิสัยมากกว่าความจำเป็น brandishes ของเขายัด แมร์เครนคอของเธอ เกินไป crooks ชอบติดขาของเธอ และชุด hesitatingly ...

ผลลัพธ์ (ไทย) 3:

ความโศกเศร้าโดย แอนตัน เชค

" ที่ผมจะบอกความเศร้าโศกของฉัน "

โพล้เพล้ของยามเย็น เกล็ดใหญ่ของหิมะเปียกจะปั่นป่วนแถวนี้ ไฟถนน ซึ่งเพิ่งได้ลงและนอนอยู่ในบางนุ่มชั้นบนหลังคาม้า ' , หลัง , ไหล่ , หมวก ไอโอนา potapov , เลื่อน - คนขับ ทั้งหมดเป็นสีขาว เหมือนผี เขานั่งอยู่บนกล่อง ไม่มีกวน