“They’ll bring you some brandy,” she answered Verhovensky.
The girl-student got up. She had darted up several times already.
“I have come to make a statement about the sufferings of poor students and the means of rousing them to protest.”
But she broke off. At the other end of the table a rival had risen, and all eyes turned to him. Shigalov, the man with the long ears, slowly rose from his seat with a gloomy and sullen air and mournfully laid on the table a thick notebook filled with extremely small handwriting. He remained standing in silence. Many people looked at the notebook in consternation, but Liputin, Virginsky, and the lame teacher seemed pleased.
“I ask leave to address the meeting,” Shigalov pronounced sullenly but resolutely.
“You have leave.” Virginsky gave his sanction.
The orator sat down, was silent for half a minute, and pronounced in a solemn voice,
“Gentlemen!”
“Here’s the brandy,” the sister who had been pouring out tea and had gone to fetch brandy rapped out, contemptuously and disdainfully putting the bottle before Verhovensky, together with the wineglass which she brought in her fingers without a tray or a plate.
The interrupted orator made a dignified pause.