Tyapa crossed himself, and leaning on his elbow, looked round to
see whether there was any vodki left. The bottle was there, but
it was empty. Crossing over his companions he looked into the
glasses from which they had drunk, found one of them almost full,
emptied it, wiped his lips with his sleeve, and began to shake
the Captain.
The Captain raised his head and looked at him with sad eyes.
"We must inform the police. . . Get up!"
"Of what?" asked the Captain, sleepily and angrily.
"What, is he not dead? . . ."
"Who?"
"The learned one. . . ."
"Philip? Ye-es!"
"Did you forget? . . . Alas!" said Tyapa, hoarsely. The Captain
rose to his feet, yawned and stretched himself till all his bones
cracked.
"Well, then! Go and give information. . ."
"I will not go . . . I do not like them," said the Captain,
morosely.
"Well, then, wake up the Deacon. . . I shall go, at any rate."
"All right! . . . Deacon, get up!"
The Captain entered the dosshouse, and stood at the teacher's
feet. The dead man lay at full length, his left hand on his
breast, the right hand held as if ready to strike some one.
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