"Pimp!" Sobashkinov had almost
decided mentally with malice, but did not believe it even himself
--the reporter was altogether too homely and too carelessly
dressed, and moreover he bore himself with great dignity.
Platonov again made believe that he had not heard the insolent
remark made by the student. He only nervously crumpled a napkin in
his fingers and lightly threw it aside from him. And again his
eyelids quivered in the direction of Boris Sobashnikov.
"Yes, true, I am one of the family here," he continued calmly,
moving his glass in slow circles on the table. "Just think, I
dined in this very house, day after day, for exactly four months."
"No? Seriously?" Yarchenko wondered and laughed.
"In all seriousness. The table here isn't at all bad, by the way.
The food is filling and savory, although exceedingly greasy."
"But how did you ever..."
"Why, just because I was tutoring for high school a daughter of
Anna Markovna, the lady of this hospitable house. Well, I
stipulated that part of my monthly pay should be deducted for my
dinners."
"What a strange fancy!" said Yarchenko.
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