"
"I swear it!" said Lichonin, putting up his hand.
"I can vouch for myself," said Ramses.
"And I! And I! By God, gentlemen, let's pledge our words ...
Yarchenko is right," others took up.
They seated themselves in twos and threes in the cabs--the drivers
of which had been long since following them in a file, grinning
and cursing each other--and rode off. Lichonin, for the sake of
assurance, sat down beside the sub-professor, having embraced him
around the waist and seated him on his knees and those of his
neighbour, the little Tolpygin, a rosy, pleasant-faced boy on
whose face, despite his twenty-three years, the childish white
down--soft and light--still showed.
"The station is at Doroshenko's!" called out Lichonin after the
cabbies driving off. "The stop is at Doroshenko's," he repeated,
turning around.
They all stopped at Doroshenko's restaurant, entered the general
room, and crowded about the bar. All were satiated and no one
wanted either to drink or to have a bite. But in the soul of each
one still remained a dark trace of the consciousness that right
now they were getting ready to commit something needlessly
shameful, getting ready to take part in some convulsive,
artificial, and not at all a merry merriment.
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