Lichonin gave him a sidelong look. As for
Soloviev, he said simple-heartedly:
"That's the way. You've begun something big and splendid,
Lichonin. The prince told me about it during the night. Well, what
of it, that's what youth is for--to commit sacred follies. Give me
the bottle, Alexandra, I'll open it myself, or else you'll rupture
yourself and burst a vein. To a new life, Liubochka, pardon me ...
Liubov ... Liubov ..."
"Nikonovna. But call me just as it comes ... Liuba."
"Well, yes, Liuba. Prince, ALLAHVERDI!"
"YAKSHI-OL," answered Nijeradze and clinked his glass of beer with
him.
"And I'll also say, that I rejoice over you, friend Lichonin,"
continued Soloviev, setting down his glass and licking his
moustache. "Rejoice, and bow before you. It's precisely you, only,
who are capable of such a genuinely Russian heroism, expressed
simply, modestly, without superfluous words."
"Drop it ... Well, where's the heroism?" Lichonin made a wry face.
"That's true, too," confirmed Nijeradze. "You're reproaching me
all the time that I chatter a lot, but see what nonsense you're
spouting yourself.
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