“What? The idea has mastered me?”
“Yes.”
“And not I mastered the idea? That’s good. You have a little sense. Only you tease me and I am proud.”
“That’s a good thing, that’s a good thing. Just what you need, to be proud.”
“Enough. You’ve drunk your tea; go away.”
“Damn it all, I suppose I must”—Pyotr Stepanovitch got up—“though it’s early. Listen, Kirillov. Shall I find that man—you know whom I mean—at Myasnitchiha’s? Or has she too been lying?”
“You won’t find him, because he is here and not there.”
“Here! Damn it all, where?”
“Sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking.”
“How dared he?” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, flushing angrily. “It was his duty to wait … what nonsense! He has no passport, no money!”