“Words of wisdom from the scholar!” ejaculated Mark.
“That same Mark of whom I wrote to you, don’t you remember!” said Leonti.
“Wait, I will introduce myself,” cried Mark, springing from the easy chair. He posed ceremoniously, and bowed.
“I have the honour to present myself, Mark Volokov, under police surveillance, involuntary citizen of this town.”
He puffed away at his cigar, and again rolled himself up in a ball.
“What do you do with yourself here?” asked Raisky.
“I think, as you do.”
“You love art, are perhaps an artist?”
“And are you an artist?”
“Painter and musician,” broke in Leonti, “and now he is writing a novel. Take care, brother, he may put you in too.”