it was more suitable for them not to recognise one another.

From the hall Kryukov walked into the drawing-room, and from it
into a second drawing-room. On the way he met three or four other
guests, also men whom he knew, though they barely recognised him.
Their faces were flushed with drink and merriment. Alexey Ivanovitch
glanced furtively at them and marvelled that these men, respectable
heads of families, who had known sorrow and privation, could demean
themselves to such pitiful, cheap gaiety! He shrugged his shoulders,
smiled, and walked on.

"There are places," he reflected, "where a sober man feels sick,
and a drunken man rejoices. I remember I never could go to the
operetta or the gipsies when I was sober: wine makes a man more
good-natured and reconciles him with vice. . . ."

Suddenly he stood still, petrified, and caught hold of the door-post
with both hands. At the writing-table in Susanna's study was sitting
Lieutenant Alexandr Grigoryevitch. He was discussing something in
an undertone with a fat, flabby-looking Jew, and seeing his cousin,
flushed crimson and looked down at an album.

The sense of decency was stirred in Kryukov and the blood rushed
to his head. Overwhelmed with amazement, shame, and anger, he walked
up to the table without a word. Sokolsky's head sank lower than
ever. His face worked with an expression of agonising shame.

"Ah, it's you, Alyosha!" he articulated, making a desperate effort
to raise his eyes and to smile. "I called here to say good-bye,
and, as you see. . . . But to-morrow I am certainly going."

"What can I say to him? What?" thought Alexey Ivanovitch. "How can
I judge him since I'm here myself?"

And clearing his throat without uttering a word, he went out slowly.

"'Call her not heavenly, and leave her on earth. . . .'"

The bass was singing in the hall. A little while after, Kryukov's
racing droshky was bumping along the dusty road.

NEIGHBOURS

PYOTR MIHALITCH IVASHIN was very much out of humour: his sister, a
young girl, had gone away to live with Vlassitch, a married man.
To shake off the despondency and depression which pursued him at
home and in the fields, he called to his aid his sense of justice,
his genuine and noble ideas--he had always defended free-love!
--but this was of no avail, and he always came back to the same
conclusion as their foolish old nurse, that his sister had acted
wrongly and that Vlassitch had abducted his sister. And that was