By
convictions he was an anarchist--theoretic, but by avocation a
passionate gambler at billiards, races and cards--a gambler with a
very broad, fatalistic sweep. Only the day before he had won a
thousand roubles at macao in the Merchants' Club, and this money
was still burning a hole in his pockets.
"And why not? Right-o!" somebody sustained him. "Let's go,
comrades?"
"Is it worth while? Why, this is an all night affair ..." spoke
another with a false prudence and an insincere fatigue.
And a third said through a feigned yawn:
"Let's better go home, gentlemen ... a-a-a ... go bye-bye ...
That's enough for to-day."
"You won't work any wonders when you're asleep," Lichonin remarked
sneeringly. "Herr professor, are you coming?"
But the sub-professor Yarchenko was obstinate and seemed really
angered, although, perhaps, he himself did not know what was
lurking within him, in some dark cranny of his soul.
"Leave me in peace, Lichonin. As I see it, gentlemen, this is
downright and plain swinishness--that which you are about to do.
We have passed the time so wonderfully, amiably and simply, it
seems,--but no, you needs must, like drunken cattle, clamber into
a cesspool.
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