"I."
"Who?"
"Yevsey Klimkov."
"Aha! Well, show me the way. Why are you standing there? Don't you recognize me?"
Yevsey looked at the hooked nose, the curls behind the ears, the protruding narrow forehead.
"I do. Viakhirev," he said with a sigh.
"Yes. Come on."
Klimkov returned in silence to the courtyard, where his eyes now distinguished many obscure figures looming in the darkness in uneven hillocks, slowly shifting from place to place, like large black fish in dark, cold water. The satiated voice of Solovyov resounded sweetishly:
"That doesn't suit me. But catch a girl for me, a little girl, a dainty little girl. I'll knout her for you."
"Always joking, the old devil," mumbled Viakhirev. "A fitting time for it."