“Why?—you could have gone on if you didn’t like it.”
“No, thanks for your kindness, I’m not willing to leave a companion.... I’d rather suffer myself than leave him.... We’ve been together three years, Ivan Anisimovich. Trifles don’t count, I’ve drunk so often in good company....”
“Yes?”
“They took off my vest; three rubles twenty.... A new pocket book....”
“If you’re blaming Gennady and me for this,” began Ivan Ivanovich, hurriedly and excitedly, “that’s so mean. Why?... If you have any doubts, we can go ahead or stay behind....”
“Please don’t pay any attention,” I said, wishing to quiet the poor fellow.
“What’s the matter?” asked Avtonomov, stopping. “What are you talking about?”
“They’re so suspicious. Lord, have mercy upon us! Are we really robbers, the Lord forgive the word?”
Gennady gazed in the darkness into the face of Andrey Ivanovich.
“Oh, the lanky gentleman!... I see!” he said drily. “The man who never trusts has pleasure, if all he judges by his measure.’ ... The road is broad....”