"And for yourself you aren't
sorry? And not sorry for this Liubka, miserable as she is? And not
sorry for Pashka? You're huckleberry jelly, and not a human
being!"
Tamara smiled craftily and haughtily:
"No, when it comes to a real matter, I'm not jelly. Perhaps you'll
see this soon, Jennechka. Only let's better not quarrel--as it is
it isn't any too sweet to live. All right, I'll go at once and
send him to you."
When she had gone away, Jennka lowered the light in the little
hanging blue lantern, put on her night blouse, and lay down. A
minute later Gladishev walked in; and after him Tamara, dragging
Petrov by the hand, who resisted and kept his head down. And in
the rear was thrust in the pink, sharp, foxy little phiz of the
cross-eyed housekeeper Zociya.
"And that's fine, now," the housekeeper commenced to bustle. "It's
just sweet to look at; two handsome gents and two swell dames. A
regular bouquet. What shall I treat you with, young people? Will
you order beer or wine?"
Gladishev had a great deal of money in his pocket, as much as he
never had before during all his brief life--all of twenty-five
roubles; and he wanted to go on a splurge.
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