So irritates at times the ceaseless,
wearisome crying, like a toothache, of an infant at breast; the
piercing whimpering of a canary; or someone whistling without
pause and out of tune in an adjoining room.
Finally, they reached Lichonin's room. There was no key in the
door. And, as a rule, it was never even locked with a key.
Lichonin pushed the door and they entered. It was dark in the
room, because the window curtains were lowered. It smelt of mice,
kerosene, yesterday's vegetable soup, long-.used bed linen, stale
tobacco smoke. In the half-dusk some one who could not be seen was
snoring deafeningly and with variations.
Lichonin raised the shade. There were the usual furnishings of a
poor student: a sagging, unmade bed with a crumpled blanket; a
lame table, and on it a candlestick without a candle; several
books on the floor and on the table; cigarette stubs everywhere;
and opposite the bed, along the other wall, an old, old divan,
upon which at the present moment was sleeping and snoring, with
mouth wide open, some young man with black hair and moustache.
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