Jennie had attempted to take the
part of her comrade, but the house-keeper had cursed the
intercessor out and had threatened her with punishment.
"What is it all about?" asked Yarchenko in perplexity, raising
high his eyebrows.
"Don't trouble yourself ... nothing out of the way..." answered
Jennie in a still agitated voice. "Just so ... our little family
trifles ... Sergei Ivanich, may I have some of your wine?"
She poured out half a glass for herself and drank the cognac off
at a draught, distending her thin nostrils wide.
Platonov got up in silence and went toward the door.
"It's not worth while, Sergei Ivanich. Drop it..." Jennie stopped
him.
"Oh no, why not?" objected the reporter. "I shall do a very simple
and innocent thing, take Pasha here, and if need be--pay for her,
even. Let her lie down here for a while on the divan and rest,
even though a little ... Niura, run for a pillow quick!"
Scarcely had the door shut behind his broad, ungainly figure in
its gray clothes, when Boris Sobashnikov at once commenced
speaking with a contemptuous bitterness:
"Gentlemen, what the devil for have we dragged into our company
this peach off the street? We must needs tie up with all sorts of
riff-raff? The devil knows what he is--perhaps he's even a dinny?
Who can vouch for him? And you're always like that, Lichonin.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158