Question

Ivan Dmitritch, a middle-class man who lived with his family on an income of twelve hundred a year and was very well satisfied with his lot, sat down on the sofa after supper and began reading the newspaper.
"I forgot to look at the newspaper today," his wife said to him as she cleared the table. "Look and see whether the list of drawings is there."

"Yes, it is," said Ivan Dmitritch; "but hasn't your ticket expired?" 5
"No, I bought it on Tuesday."
"What is the number?"
"Series 9,499, number 26."
"All right... we will look... 9,499 and 26."

Ivan Dmitritch had no faith in lottery luck, and would not, as a rule, have consented to look at the lists of winning numbers, 10
but now, as he had nothing else to do and as the newspaper was before his eyes, he passed his finger downwards along the column of numbers. And immediately, as though in mockery of his skepticism1, no further than the second line from the top,
his eye was caught by the figure 9,499! Unable to believe his eyes, he hurriedly dropped the paper on his knees without looking
to see the number of the ticket, and, just as though he had drank a glass of cold water, he felt an agreeable chill in the pit of the stomach; tingling and terrible and sweet! 15

"Masha, 9,499 is there!" he said in a hollow voice.
His wife looked at his astonished and panic-stricken face, and realized that he was not joking.
"9,499?" she asked, turning pale and dropping the folded tablecloth on the table.
"Yes, yes... it really is there!"
"And the number of the ticket?" 20
"Oh, yes! There's the number of the ticket too. But stay... wait! No, I say! Anyway, the number of our series is there! Anyway,
you understand..."

Looking at his wife, Ivan Dmitritch gave a broad, senseless smile, like a baby when a bright object is shown it. His wife smiled too; it was as pleasant to her as to him that he only mentioned the series, and did not try to find out the number of the winning ticket. To torment and tantalize oneself with hopes of possible fortune is so sweet, so thrilling! 25
"It is our series," said Ivan Dmitritch, after a long silence. "So there is a probability that we have won. It's only a probability,
but there it is!"
"Well, now look!"
"Wait a little. We have plenty of time to be disappointed. It's on the second line from the top, so the prize is seventy-five thousand. That's not money, but power, capital! And in a minute I shall look at the list, and there--26! Eh? I say, what if 30
we really have won?"

The husband and wife began laughing and staring at one another in silence.

"And if we have won," he said--"why, it will be a new life, it will be a transformation! The ticket is yours, but if it were mine
I should, first of all, of course, spend twenty-five thousand on real property in the shape of an estate.."
"Yes, an estate, that would be nice," said his wife, sitting down and dropping her hands in her lap. 35
"Yes, it would be nice to buy an estate," said his wife, also dreaming, and from her face it was evident that she was enchanted
by her thoughts.
Ivan Dmitritch pictured to himself autumn with its rains, its cold evenings, and its St. Martin's5 summer
The St. Martin's summer is followed by cloudy, gloomy weather. It rains day and night, the bare trees weep, the wind is
damp and cold. 40

Ivan Dmitritch stopped and looked at his wife.
"I should go abroad, you know, Masha," he said.
And he began thinking how nice it would be in late autumn to go abroad somewhere to the South of France... to Italy... to India!
"I should certainly go abroad too," his wife said. "But look at the number of the ticket!"
"Wait, wait!..." 45

He walked about the room and went on thinking. It occurred to him: what if his wife really did go abroad.
"She would begrudge6 me every penny," he thought, with a glance at his wife. "The lottery ticket is hers, not mine! Besides, what is the use of her going abroad? What does she want there?
And his wife's face, too, struck him as repulsive and hateful. Anger surged up in his heart against her, and he thought malignantly: 50
"She knows nothing about money, and so she is stingy. If she won it she would give me a hundred roubles7, and put the
rest away under lock and key."
And he looked at his wife, not with a smile now, but with hatred. She glanced at him too, and also with hatred and anger.
She had her own daydreams, her own plans, her own reflections; she understood perfectly well what her husband's dreams
were. She knew who would be the first to try and grab her winnings. 55
"Series 9,499, number 46! Not 26!"

Hatred and hope both disappeared at once, and it began immediately to seem to Ivan Dmitritch and his wife that their rooms were dark and small and low-pitched, that the supper they had been eating was not doing them good, but lying heavy on their stomachs, that the evenings were long and wearisome...


Someone plese just find an oxymoron

Answer 1

Answer:

how CAN you say that Ivan was satisfied with his life