"Ahem! And have you the right to make corpses out of living people?"
"Yes, I have."
"Where did you get it from?"
"The people themselves gave it to me."
The Little Russian stood in the middle of the room, tall and spare, swaying on his legs, with his hands thrust in his pockets, and looked down on Nikolay. Nikolay sat firmly in his chair, enveloped in clouds of smoke, with red spots on his face showing through.
"The people gave it to me!" he repeated clenching his fist. "If they kick me I have the right to strike them and punch their eyes out! Don't touch me, and I won't touch you! Let me live as I please, and I'll live in peace and not touch anybody. Maybe I'd prefer to live in the woods. I'd build myself a cabin in the ravine by the brook and live there. At any rate, I'd live alone."
"Well, go and live that way, if it pleases you," said the Little Russian, shrugging his shoulders.
"Now?" asked Nikolay. He shook his head in negation and replied, striking his fist on his knee:
"Now it's impossible!"
"Who's in your way?"