“Sergey Petrovich!” Screw said in a plaintive voice, stretching out towards my head his hand wet with rain, “Honest man! My friend!”
And then I heard a man crying. The doctor wept.
“Pavel Ivanovich, go home!” I said after a short silence. “I can't talk with you now.… I am afraid of my own mood, and of yours. We won't understand each other.…”
“My dear friend!” the doctor said in an imploring voice, “Marry her.”
“You've gone mad!” I said, and banged the window to.…
First the parrot, then the doctor suffered from my mood. I did not ask him to come in, and I slammed the window in his face. Two rude and indecorous sallies for which I would have challenged anybody, even a woman, to a duel.[13] But meek and good-natured “Screw” had no ideas about duels. He did not know what it is to be angry.
About two minutes later there was a flash of lightning, and glancing out of the window I saw the bent figure of my guest. His pose this time was one of supplication, of expectancy, the pose of a beggar watching for alms. He was probably waiting for me to pardon him, and to allow him to say what he had to communicate.
Fortunately my conscience was moved; I was sorry for myself, sorry that nature had implanted in me so much violence and meanness. My base soul as well as my healthy body were as hard as flint.[14]
I went to the window and opened it.
“Come into the room!” I said.