‘When?’
‘Now ... at once.’
Litvinov merely made a gesture with his hand.
‘Irina Pavlovna,’ pursued Potugin, ‘supposes that the ... how can I express it ... the environment, shall we say, in which you found her the other day, was not likely to be particularly attractive to you; but she told me to tell you, that the devil is not so black as he is fancied.’
‘Hm.... Does that saying apply strictly to the environment?’
‘Yes ... and in general.’
‘Hm.... Well, and what is your opinion, Sozont Ivanitch, of the devil?’
‘I think, Grigory Mihalitch, that he is in any case not what he is fancied.’
‘Is he better?’