. . . I will kill you on the
spot like a fly!"
He shook his fist in Vaviloff's face and ground his teeth till
they nearly broke.
After he had gone Vaviloff began smiling and winking to himself.
Then two large drops rolled down his cheeks. They were greyish,
and they hid themselves in his moustache, whilst two others
followed them. Then Vaviloff went into his own room and stood
before the icon, stood there without praying, immovable, with the
salt tears running down his wrinkled brown cheeks. . . .
* * * * *
Deacon Taras, who, as a rule, loved to loiter in the woods and
fields, proposed to the "creatures that once were men" that they
should go together into the fields, and there drink Vaviloff's
vodki in the bosom of Nature. But the Captain and all the rest
swore at the Deacon, and decided to drink it in the courtyard.
"One, two, three," counted Aristid Fomich; "our full number is
thirty, the teacher is not here . . . but probably many other
outcasts will come. Let us calculate, say, twenty persons, and
to every person two-and-a-half cucumbers, a pound of bread, and a
pound of meat .
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