"Why have you insulted Sophie Nikonovna?" said Pavel sternly, standing very straight.
Ilya read his condemnation in Gratschev's angry face and reproachful eyes, but he bore that with indifference. He said slowly, in a tired voice:
"You might say 'good day' when you come in, don't you think? and take off your cap. There's an eikon here."
Pavel simply clutched his cap and drew it on more firmly, while his lips twitched with anger. Then he began, speaking fast and bitterly, with a trembling voice:
"Go on! Got lots of money, haven't you? and plenty to eat? You'd better think how you once said: 'There's no one to care about us,' and then you find one, and you turn her out. Ah, you—you pedlar, you!"
A dull feeling of slackness prevented Lunev from replying. With an unmoved, indifferent look he regarded Pavel's angry contemptuous features, feeling that the reproaches could not bite into his soul. On Pavel's chin and upper lip lay a thin yellow down, and Lunev found himself looking at this as he thought, indifferently:
"Now he's beginning. She must have complained of me to him. Did I really insult her? I might have said far worse things."
"She, who understands everything and can explain everything; and it's to her—you——Ah!" said Pavel, his talk full of interjections as usual: "All of them—there, are good—clever—they know everything you can think of by heart. Yes!—you ought to have held to her—and you——"
"That'll do anyhow, Pashka," said Lunev slowly. "What are you trying to teach me? I do what I like.'
"Yes, but what do you do? It's a shame!"