"for any kind of cloak. If you have a
marten fur on the collar, or a silk-lined hood, it will mount up to
two hundred."

"Petrovich, please," said Akaky Akakiyevich in a beseeching tone, not
hearing, and not trying to hear, Petrovich's words, and disregarding
all his "effects," "some repairs, in order that it may wear yet a
little longer."

"No, it would only be a waste of time and money," said Petrovich. And
Akaky Akakiyevich went away after these words, utterly discouraged.
But Petrovich stood for some time after his departure, with
significantly compressed lips, and without betaking himself to his
work, satisfied that he would not be dropped, and an artistic tailor
employed.

Akaky Akakiyevich went out into the street as if in a dream. "Such an
affair!" he said to himself. "I did not think it had come to--" and
then after a pause, he added, "Well, so it is! see what it has come to
at last! and I never imagined that it was so!" Then followed a long
silence, after which he exclaimed, "Well, so it is! see what
already--nothing unexpected that--it would be nothing--what a strange
circumstance!" So saying, instead of going home, he went in exactly
the opposite direction without suspecting it. On the way, a
chimney-sweep bumped up against him, and blackened his shoulder, and a
whole hatful of rubbish landed on him from the top of a house which
was building. He did not notice it, and only when he ran against a
watchman, who, having planted his halberd beside him, was shaking some
snuff from his box into his horny hand, did he recover himself a
little, and that because the watchman said, "Why are you poking
yourself into a man's very face? Haven't you the pavement?" This
caused him to look about him, and turn towards home.

There only, he finally began to collect his thoughts, and to survey
his position in its clear and actual light, and to argue with himself,
sensibly and frankly, as with a reasonable friend, with whom one can
discuss private and personal matters. "No," said Akaky Akakiyevich,
"it is impossible to reason with Petrovich now. He is that--evidently,
his wife has been beating him. I'd better go to him on Sunday morning.
After Saturday night he will be a little cross-eyed and sleepy, for he
will want to get drunk, and his wife won't give him any money, and at
such a time, a ten-kopek piece in his hand will--he will become more
fit to reason with, and then the cloak and that--" Thus argued Akaky
Akakiyevic