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First published January 1, 1832



then he suddenly dreamed that his wife was not a person at all but some sort of woolen fabric; that he was in Mogilev, going into a shop. “What kind of fabric would you like? Says the shopkeeper. “Take some wife, it’s the most fashionable fabric! Very good quality! everybody makes frock coats from it now.” The shopkeeper measures and cuts the wife. Ivan Fuodorovich takes it under his arm and goes to a tailor, a Jew. No,” says the Jew, “this is poor fabric! Nobody makes frock coats from it . . .”