Zverkov answered disdainfully.
They were all flushed, their eyes were bright: they had been
drinking heavily.
"I ask for your friendship, Zverkov; I insulted you, but ..."
"Insulted? YOU insulted ME? Understand, sir, that you never, under any
circumstances, could possibly insult ME."
"And that's enough for you. Out of the way!" concluded Trudolyubov.
"Olympia is mine, friends, that's agreed!" cried Zverkov.
"We won't dispute your right, we won't dispute your right," the others
answered, laughing.
I stood as though spat upon. The party went noisily out of the room.
Trudolyubov struck up some stupid song. Simonov remained behind for
a moment to tip the waiters. I suddenly went up to him.
"Simonov! give me six roubles!" I said, with desperate resolution.
He looked at me in extreme amazement, with vacant eyes. He, too,
was drunk.
"You don't mean you are coming with us?"
"Yes."
"I've no money," he snapped out, and with a scornful laugh he went
out of the room.
I clutched at his overcoat. It was a nightmare.
"Simonov, I saw you had money. Why do you refuse me? Am I a
scoundrel? Beware of refusing me: if you knew, if you knew why I am
asking! My whole future, my whole plans depend upon it!"
Simonov pulled out the money and almost flung it at me.
"Take it, if you have no sense of shame!" he pronounced pitilessly, and
ran to overtake them.
I was left for a moment alone. Disorder, the remains of dinner, a
broken wine-glass on the floor, spilt wine, cigarette ends, fumes of drink
and delirium in my brain, an agonising misery in my heart and finally
the waiter, who had seen and heard all and was looking inquisitively into
my face.
"I am going there!" I cried. "Either they shall all go down on their
knees to beg for my friendship, or I will give Zverkov a slap in the face!"
V
"So this is it, this is it at last--contact with real life," I muttered as I ran
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