The cook’s son looks up and turns pale.
“Then I can’t go on playing any more,” he whispers.
“Why not?”
“Because . . . because I have got no more money.”
“You can’t play without money,” says Grisha.
Andrey ransacks his pockets once more to make sure. Finding nothing in them but crumbs and a bitten pencil, he drops the corners of his mouth and begins blinking miserably. He is on the point of crying. . . .
“I’ll put it down for you!” says Sonya, unable to endure his look of agony. “Only mind you must pay me back afterwards.”
The money is brought and the game goes on.
“I believe they are ringing somewhere,” says Anya, opening her eyes wide.
They all leave off playing and gaze open-mouthed at the dark window. The reflection of the lamp glimmers in the darkness.