. . One more glass?"
Gavrilo drank. Everything swam before his eyes in unequal waves. That
was unpleasant and gave him nausea. His face had a stupid expression.
In his efforts to speak, he protruded his lips comically and roared.
Tchelkache looked at him fixedly as though he was recalling something,
then without turning aside his gaze twisted his moustache and smiled,
but this time, moodily and viciously.
The ale-house was filled with a drunken uproar. The red-haired sailor
was asleep with his elbows on the table.
"Let us get out of here!" said Tchelkache rising.
Gavrilo tried to rise, but not succeeding, uttered a formidable oath
and burst out into an idiotic, drunken laugh.
"See how fresh you are!" said Tchelkache, sitting down again. Gavrilo
continued to laugh, stupidly contemplating his master. The other
looked at him lucidly and penetratingly. He saw before him a man whose
life he held in his hands. He knew that he had it in his power to do
what he would with him. He could bend him like a piece of cardboard,
or help him to develop amid his staid, village environments. Feeling
himself the master and lord of another being, he enjoyed this thought
and said to himself that this lad should never drink of the cup that
destiny had made him, Tchelkache, empty.
Pages:
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63