[Footnote: A Russian ban vivant, wit and poet (1781-1839),
the overwhelming majority of whose lyrics deals with military
exploits and debauches.--Trans.] These debauches were esteemed by
them the last word in valour and maturity.
And so it happened once, that they did not exactly persuade
Gladishev to go to Anna Markovna, but rather he himself had begged
to go, so weakly had he resisted temptation. This evening he
always recalled with horror, with aversion; and dimly, just like
some heavy dream. With difficulty he recalled, how in the cab, to
get up courage, he had drunk rum, revoltingly smelling of real
bedbugs; how qualmish this beastly drink made him feel; how he had
walked into the big hall, where the lights of the lustres and the
candelabra on the walls were turning round in fiery wheels; where
the women moved as fantastic pink, blue, violet splotches, and the
whiteness of their necks, bosoms and arms flashed with a blinding,
spicy, victorious splendour. Some one of the comrades whispered
something in the ear of one of these fantastic figures. She ran up
to Kolya and said:
"Listen, you good-looking little cadet, your comrades are saying,
now, that you're still innocent .
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