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Twenty-two years I live in a brothel, and I know, that this happens with very foolish young peoples. But only I assure you, that from this will come nothing out." "Whether it will come out or whether it won't come out that is already my affair," answered Lichonin dully, looking down at his fingers, trembling on his knees.
The upshot of it was that after half an hour Lichonin and Yarchenko did not under any consideration want to part with the reporter and dragged him with them to Yama. However, he did not resist. "If I am not a burden to you, I would be very glad," he said simply. "All the more since I have easy money to-day.
"Very well, then. You listen to her carefully. Her opinions happen to be of an unusually cynical nature, but at times of exceeding weight." Lichonin vigorously rubbed and kneaded his face with his palms, then intertwined his fingers and nervously cracked them twice. It was apparent that he was agitated and was himself constrained about that which he was getting ready to say.
Liubka with difficulty clambered upward. It seemed to her that now, now, two steps more, and she would drop straight down on the steps and fall into a sleep from which nothing would be able to wake her. But Lichonin was saying all the time: "My dear! I can see you are tired. But that's nothing. Lean upon me. We are going upwards all the time! Always higher and higher!
Only the boots, shoes, umbrellas and canes of the people walking by on the sidewalk could be seen through this window. "What does he mean, by leading me around as though for a show?" thought Liubka: "it looks like he's showing off before them." And, snatching a free moment, she whispered to Lichonin, who had bent over her: "But why are there so many people, dearie? For I'm so bashful.
Lichonin recalled vividly, that to-day at dawn he had spoken the very same phrase, like an actor; and even blinked his eyes from shame. "That's enough of tom-foolery. Let's go, gentlemen. Dress yourself, Liuba." It was not far to The Sparrows restaurant; some two hundred steps. On the way Liuba, unnoticed, took Lichonin by the sleeve and pulled him toward her.
She suddenly recognized Lichonin, darted to him, embraced him, squeezed him to her bosom and kissed him straight on his lips with her moist, warm, thick lips. Then she spread her arms out wide, smote one palm against the other, intertwined her fingers, and sweetly, as only Podolian wives can do it, began to coo: "My little master, my little silver gold trove, my lovie!
Lichonin, Soloviev, and Nijeradze talked most of all. The first, in a decisive and business-like manner, trying to hide under the solicitous words something real, inward, prickling and inconvenient. Soloviev, with a puerile delight, with the most sweeping of gestures, hitting the table with his fist.
"Oh no, you can't do that ... you are our guest, colleague," remonstrated Lichonin. "Well, now, what sort of colleague am I to you?" good-naturedly laughed the reporter. "I was only in the first class and then only for half a year as an unmatriculated student. Here you are, Onuphriy Zakharich. Gentlemen, I beg you..."
Lichonin, for the sake of assurance, sat down beside the sub-professor, having embraced him around the waist and seated him on his knees and those of his neighbour, the little Tolpygin, a rosy, pleasant-faced boy on whose face, despite his twenty-three years, the childish white down soft and light still showed. "The station is at Doroshenko's!" called out Lichonin after the cabbies driving off.
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