Novikoff turned round trembling.
“I must ask you to stop making such stupid jokes!” he said in a shrill, hard voice. It rang out through the dusk, and echoed among the dreaming garden-trees.
“Why so furious?” asked Sanine.
“Look here!” began Novikoff hoarsely. In his eyes there was such an expression of rage that Sanine scarcely recognized him.
“Do you mean to say that it wouldn’t be a lucky thing for you to marry Lida?” continued Sanine merrily.
“Shut up!” cried the other, staggering forward, and brandishing an old boot over Sanine’s head.
“Now then! Gently! Are you mad?” said Sanine sharply, as he stepped backwards.
Novikoff flung the boot away in disgust, breathing hard.
“With that boot you were actually going to …” Sanine stopped, and shook his head. He pitied his friend, though such behaviour seemed to him utterly ridiculous.
“It’s your fault,” stammered Novikoff in confusion.