»You don't even know how to smoke!« the girl exclaimed angrily, and roughly tried to snatch the cigarette from him. »Throw it away!«
»Now, there you are,—angry with me again!«
»Yes, I am!«
»But why, Liuba? Just think! For two nights I haven't had any sleep, running about the town from pillar to post. And now, you're going to give me up and they'll have me in jail! That's a fine finish, isn't it? But, Liuba, I'll never give in alive....«
He stopped short.
»Will you shoot?«
»Yes, I shall shoot.«
The music had ceased for a time, but the wild drunken man was still halloing although apparently someone, as a joke or in earnest, had a hand on his mouth, the sounds coming through the compressed fingers even more desperately and savagely. The room reeked no longer with cheap fragrant soap, but with a thick, moist and repulsive odour; on one wall, uncovered, there hung messily and flat some petticoats and blouses. It was all so repugnant, so strange, to think that this also was life,—that people were living such a life day in, day out,—that he felt dazed and shrugged his shoulders and again looked round slowly.
»What a place this is!« he said, bemused and resting his eyes on Liuba.
»What of it?« she asked curtly.