"For one person to live all alone is hard, too," said Masha, pouring out another glass of nalivka for him. "Drink."
Yevsey longed to speak much and openly. He observed that the women listened to him willingly; and this in conjunction with the two glasses of wine aroused him. But the journalist's servant girl Liza, who came in at that moment also excited, at once usurped the attention of Anfisa and Masha. She was bony and had a cast in one eye. Her hair was handsomely dressed, and she was cleverly gowned. With her sprightly manner she seemed a good forward little girl.
"My good people invited guests for to-day, and did not want to let me go," she said sitting down. "'Well,' said I, 'you can do as you please.' And I went off. Let them bother themselves."
"Many guests?" Klimkov asked wearily, remembering his duty.
"A good many. But what sort of guests! Not one of them ever sticks a dime into your hand. On New Year's all I got was two rubles and thirty kopeks."
"So they're not rich?" asked Yevsey.
"Oh, rich! No! Not one of them has a whole overshoe."
"Who are they? What's their business?"
"Different things. Some write for the newspapers, another is simply a student. Oh, what a good fellow one of them is! He has black eyebrows, and curly hair, and a cute little mustache, white, even teeth—a lively, jolly fellow. He came from Siberia not long ago. He keeps talking about hunting."
Yevsey looked at Liza, and bent his head. He wanted to say "Stop!" to her. Instead he apathetically asked, "I suppose he must have been exiled."