Volodin looked in the same direction and said with a snigger:
"It was there, but it's gone."
There really had been no cat—it was an illusion of Peredonov's—a cat with wide green eyes, his cunning, tireless enemy.
Peredonov began to think about the billiard balls:
"Who needed them? Has the nedotikomka devoured them? Perhaps that's why I haven't seen it to-day," thought Peredonov. "It must have gorged itself and be asleep somewhere now."
Peredonov went home dejectedly.
The sunset was fading. A small cloud was wandering across the sky. She moved stealthily on her soft shoes, and peeped out at him. On her dark edges a reflection smiled enigmatically.
Above the stream, which flowed between the garden and the town, the shadows of the houses and the bushes wavered, whispered to each other, and seemed to be searching for someone.
And on the earth, in this dark and eternally hostile town, all the people he met were evil and malicious. Everything became mingled in a general ill-will towards Peredonov, the dogs laughed at him and the people barked at him.