“Well, what of it? I respect him very much. He is very respectable.”
“And with Nicky the Book-keeper? And with the contractor? And with Antoshka-Kartoshka?[4] And with the fat actor? Oo-ooh, you shameless creature!” Jennie suddenly cries out. “I can’t look at you without disgust. You’re a bitch! In your place, if I was such a miserable thing, I’d rather lay hands on myself, strangle myself with a cord from my corset. You vermin!”
[4] Tony the Potato.—Trans.
Pasha silently lowers her eyelashes over her tear-filled eyes. Manya tries to defend her.
“Really, what are you carrying on like that for, Jennechka? What are you down on her like that for...”
“Eh, all of you are fine!” Jennie sharply cuts her short. “No self-respect of any sort! Some scum comes along, buys you like a piece of meat, hires you like a cabby, at a fixed rate, for love for an hour, but you go all to pieces: ‘Ah, my little lover! Ah, what unearthly passion!’ Ugh!” she spat in disgust.
She wrathfully turns her back upon them and continues to promenade on a diagonal through the room, swinging her hips and blinking at herself in every mirror.
During this time Isaac Davidovich, the piano player, is still struggling with the refractory violinist.
“Not that way, not that way, Isaiah Savvich. You throw the fiddle away for one little minute. Listen a little to me. Here is the tune.”
He plays with one finger and hums in that horrible goatish voice that all musical directors—for which calling he had been at one time preparing—possess.