Vassilissa sat down.
‘Well, good day to you,’ Ivan Afanasiitch pursued. ‘Come, how are you? what have you been doing?’
‘I’m well, thank God, Ivan Afanasiitch. And you?’
‘I? as you see! A ruined man. And ruined by whom? By you, Vassilissa. But I’m not angry with you. Only I’m a ruined man. You ask him. (He pointed to Onisim.) Don’t you mind my being drunk. I’m drunk, certainly; only I’m a ruined man. That’s why I’m drunk, because I’m a ruined man.’
‘Lord have mercy on us, Ivan Afanasiitch!’
‘A ruined man, Vassilissa, I tell you. You may believe me. I’ve never deceived you. Oh, and how’s your aunt?’
‘Very well, Ivan Afanasiitch. Thank you.’
Pyetushkov began swaying violently.
‘But you’re not quite well to-day, Ivan Afanasiitch. You ought to lie down.’
‘No, I’m quite well, Vassilissa. No, don’t say I’m not well; you’d better say I’ve fallen into evil ways, lost my morals. That’s what would be just. I won’t dispute that.’