“Yes, certain things.… By mutual consent.…”
We were silent for a quarter of a minute. I had terrible palpitations of the heart and my temples throbbed, but to show that I was agitated did not enter into my plans.
“By mutual consent,” I repeated. “Last time you told me that you had taken the subject of your novel from real occurrences.”
“Yes, and I am ready to confirm it now. If you have read my novel, may I have the honour of introducing myself as Zinov'ev.”
“Consequently, you were best-man at Olga Nikolaevna's wedding.”
“Both best-man and friend of the house. Am I not sympathetic in this manuscript?” Kamyshev laughed, stroked his knees and got very red. “A fine fellow, eh? I ought to have been flogged, but there was nobody to do it.”
“So, sir.… I liked your novel: it is better and more interesting than most novels of crimes. Only by mutual consent you and I must make some essential changes in it.”
“That's possible. For example, what do you consider requires change?”
“The very habitus of the novel, its character. It has, as in all novels treating of crimes, everything: crime, evidence, an inquest, even fifteen years' penal servitude as a dessert, but the most essential thing is lacking.”
“What is that?”