"Nothing," said Yevsey after a pause.
"You ought to thank me, you little fool," Dorimedont explained condescendingly.
Yevsey felt that the little grey eyes held him fast to something as if with nails.
"We'll be better to you than relatives," continued Dorimedont, walking away, and leaving behind the heavy odor of beer, sweat, and grease.
Yevsey opened the window, and listened to the grumbling and stirring of the dark, exhausted city sinking into sleep. A sharp aching pain stole up from somewhere. Faintness seized the boy's body. A thin cord, as it were, cut at his heart, and made breathing difficult. He lay down and groaned and peered into the darkness with frightened eyes. Wardrobes and trunks moved about in the obscurity, black dancing spots rocking to and fro. Walls scarcely visible turned and twisted. All this oppressed Yevsey with unconquerable fear, and pushed him into a stifling corner, from which it was impossible to escape.
In Rayisa's room the spy guffawed.
"M-m-m-my! Ha, ha, ha! It's nothing—it will pass away—ha, ha! You'll get used—"
Yevsey thrust his head under the pillow in order not to hear these irritating exclamations. A minute later, unable to catch his breath, he jumped from bed. The dry dark feet of his master flashed before him, his little red sickly eyes lighted up. Yevsey uttered a short shriek, and ran to Rayisa's door with outstretched hands. He pushed against it and cried:
"I'm afraid."
Two large bodies in the room bounded to their feet. Someone bawled in a startled angry voice: "Get out of there!"