"Yes, nothing! What do you expect me to do?" he asked provocatively.
Nicolai Yegorovitch was about to make a cutting retort, but said
nothing, merely shrugging his shoulders and with measured tread
resuming his march from one corner of the room to the other. He was too
well-bred to wrangle with his son on the very day of his arrival.
Yourii watched him with flashing eyes, being hardly able to control
himself and ready on the slightest chance to open the quarrel. Lialia
was almost in tears. She glanced imploringly from her brother to her
father. Riasantzeff at last understood the situation, and he felt so
sorry for Lialia, that, clumsily enough, he turned the talk into
another channel.
Slowly, tediously, the evening passed. Yourii would not admit that he
was blameworthy, for he did not agree with his father that politics
were no part of his business. He considered that his father was
incapable of understanding the simplest things, being old and void of
intelligence. Unconsciously he blamed him for his old age and his
antiquated ideas: they enraged him. The topics touched upon by
Riasantzeff did not interest him.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73