Give me the money now, the vodki and refreshments will do
at eight o'clock."
Vaviloff turned purple with rage, and stared at Kuvalda with
wide-open eyes.
"This is humbug! This is robbery! I will do nothing of the
sort. What do you mean, Aristid Fomich? Keep your appetite for
the next feast! I am not afraid of you now . . ."
Kuvalda looked at the clock.
"I give you ten minutes, Egorka, for your idiotic talk. Finish
your nonsense by that time and give me what I demand. If you
don't I will devour you! Kanets has sold you something? Did you
read in the paper about the theft at Basoff's house? Do you
understand? You won't have time to hide anything, we will not
let you . . . and this very night . . . do you understand?"
"Why, Aristid Fomich?" sobbed the discomfited merchant.
"No more words! Did you understand or not?"
Tall, grey, and imposing, Kuvalda spoke in half whispers, and his
deep bass voice rang through the house. Vaviloff always feared
him because he was not only a retired military man, but a man who
had nothing to lose. But now Kuvalda appeared before him in a
new role.
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