Fyodor Dostoevsky

changed the dinner hour they ought at least to have let me know--that is

what the post is for, and not to have put me in an absurd position in my

own eyes and ... and even before the waiters. I sat down; the servant

began laying the table; I felt even more humiliated when he was present.

Towards six o'clock they brought in candles, though there were lamps

burning in the room. It had not occurred to the waiter, however, to bring

them in at once when I arrived. In the next room two gloomy, angry-

looking persons were eating their dinners in silence at two different

tables. There was a great deal of noise, even shouting, in a room further

away; one could hear the laughter of a crowd of people, and nasty little

shrieks in French: there were ladies at the dinner. It was sickening, in fact.

I rarely passed more unpleasant moments, so much so that when they did

arrive all together punctually at six I was overjoyed to see them, as though

they were my deliverers, and even forgot that it was incumbent upon me

to show resentment.

Zverkov walked in at the head of them; evidently he was the leading

spirit. He and all of them were laughing; but, seeing me, Zverkov drew

himself up a little, walked up to me deliberately with a slight, rather jaunty

bend from the waist. He shook hands with me in a friendly, but not over-

friendly, fashion, with a sort of circumspect courtesy like that of a General,

as though in giving me his hand he were warding off something. I had

imagined, on the contrary, that on coming in he would at once break into

his habitual thin, shrill laugh and fall to making his insipid jokes and

witticisms. I had been preparing for them ever since the previous day, but I

had not expected such condescension, such high-official courtesy. So,

then, he felt himself ineffably superior to me in every respect! If he only

meant to insult me by that high-official tone, it would not matter, I

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