Two or three rows had already happened in different houses. Some
man, all in blood, whose face in the pale light of the moon's
crescent seemed black from the blood, was running around in the
street, cursing, and, without paying the least attention to his
wounds, was searching for his cap which had been lost in the
brawl. On Little Yamskaya some government scribes had had a fight
with a ship's company. The tired pianists and musicians played as
in a delirium, in a doze, through mechanical habit. This was
towards the waning of the night.
Altogether unexpectedly, seven students, a sub-professor, and a
local reporter walked into the establishment of Anna Markovna.
CHAPTER VIII.
They had all, except the reporter, passed the whole day together,
from the very morning, celebrating May Day with some young women
of their acquaintance. They had rowed in boats on the Dnieper, had
cooked field porridge on the other side of the river, in the
thick, bitter-smelling underbrush; had bathed--men and women by
turns--in the rapid, warm water; had drunk home-made spiced
brandy, sung sonorous songs of Little Russia, and had returned to
town only late in the evening, when the dark, broad, running river
so eerily and merrily plashed against the sides of their boats,
playing with the reflections of the stars, the silvery shimmering
paths of the electric lamps, and the bowing lights of the can-
buoys.
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