"What makes you think that?" rejoined Sarudine warily, scenting an
attack.
Novikoff was silent. With all that was in him, he longed to hit
Sarudine full in the face, that pretty self-satisfied-looking face, to
fling him to the ground, and kick him, in a blind fury of passion. But
the words that he wanted would not come; he knew, and it tortured him
the more to know, that he was saying the wrong thing, as with a sneer,
he replied.
"It is enough to look at you, to know that."
The strange, menacing tone of his voice produced a sudden lull, almost
as if a murder had been committed. Ivanoff guessed what was the matter.
"It seems to me that ..." began Sarudine coldly. His manner had changed
somewhat, though he did not lose his self-control.
"Come, come, gentlemen! What's the matter?" cried Ivanoff.
"Don't interfere! Let them fight it out!" interposed Sanine, laughing.
"It does not seem, but it is so!" said Novikoff, in the same tone, his
eyes still fixed on his glass.
Instantly, as it were, a living wall rose up between the rivals, amid
much shouting, waving of arms, and expressions of amusement or of
surprise.
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