id not understand what Paklin was
saying, or perhaps took it only as a joke, because he shouted again,
"Yes, a thousand roubles! Kapiton Golushkin keeps his word!" And so
saying he thrust his hand into a side pocket. "Here is the money,
take it! Tear it to pieces! Remember Kapiton!" When under excitement
Golushkin invariably talked of himself in the third person, as children
often do. Nejdanov picked up the notes which Golushkin had flung on the
table covered with wine stains. Since there was nothing more to wait
for, and the hour was getting late, they rose, took their hats, and
departed.

They all felt giddy as soon as they got out into the fresh air,
especially Paklin.

"Well, where are we going to now?" he asked with an effort.

"I don't know were you are going, but I'm going home," Solomin replied.

"Back to the factory?"

"Yes."

"Now, at night, and on foot?"

"Why not? I don't think there are any wolves or robbers here--and my
legs are quite strong enough to carry me. It's cooler walking at night."

"But hang it all, it's four miles!"

"I wouldn't mind if it were more. Good-bye, gentlemen." Solomin buttoned
his coat, pulled his cap over his forehead, lighted a cigar, and walked
down the street with long strides.

"And where are you going to?" Paklin asked, turning to Nejdanov.

"I'm going home with him." He pointed to Markelov, who was standing
motionless, his hands crossed on his breast. "We have horses and a
conveyance."

"Very well.... And I'm going to Fomishka's and Fimishka's oasis. And
do you know what I should like to say? There's twaddle here and twaddle
there, only that twaddle, the twaddle of the eighteenth century, is
nearer to the Russian character than the twaddle of the twentieth
century. Goodbye, gentlemen. I'm drunk, so don't be offended at what I
say, only a better woman than my sister Snandulia... is not to be found
on God's earth, although she is a hunchback and called Snandulia. That's
how things are arranged in this world! She ought to have such a name. Do
you know who Saint Snandulia was? She was a virtuous woman who used to
visit prisons and heal the wounds of the sick. But... goodbye! goodbye,
Nejdanov, thou man to be pitied! And you, officer... ugh! misanthrope!
goodbye!" He dragged himself away, limping and swaying from side to
side, towards the oasis, while Markelov and Nejdanov sought out the
posting inn where they had left their conveyance, ordered the horses to
be har