"You've got some way or other," said Peredonov, "perhaps you breathed through your mouth instead of your nose, or you may have recited a charm. For my part, I don't know at all how to act against witchcraft. I don't know much about black magic. Until I recited the counter-charm I was quite durmanised."
Routilov laughed. "Well, and how did you make the exorcism?" he asked.
But Peredonov did not reply.
"Why do you tie yourself up with Varvara?" asked Routilov. "Do you think that you'll be happier if she gets the inspectorship for you? She'll rule the roost then!"
This was incomprehensible to Peredonov.
After all, he thought, she was really acting in her own interests. She herself would have an easier time if he became an important official, and she would have more money. That meant that she would be grateful to him and not he to her. And in any case she was more congenial to him than anyone else.
Peredonov was accustomed to Varvara. Something drew him to her—perhaps it was his habit, which was very pleasant to him, of bullying her. He would not find another like her however much he sought.
It was already late. The lamps were lit at Peredonov's house; the lighted windows were conspicuous in the dark street. The tea-table was surrounded with visitors: Grushina—who now visited Varvara every day—Volodin, Prepolovenskaya, and her husband Konstantin Petrovitch, a tall man, under forty, with a dull, pale face and black hair, a person of an amazing taciturnity. Varvara was in a white party dress. They were drinking tea, and talking. Varvara, as usual, was distressed because Peredonov had not yet returned home. Volodin, with his cheerful bleat, was telling her that Peredonov had gone off somewhere with Routilov. This only increased her distress.
At last Peredonov appeared with Routilov. They were met with outcries, laughter, stupid coarse jokes.
"Varvara, where's the vodka?" exclaimed Peredonov gruffly.