"Gentlemen, this is Mr. Pavel Lvovitsch Volochine."
Volochine bowed slightly.
"We must make a note of that!" observed the tipsy Ivanoff, much to
Sarudine's horror.
"Pray sit down, Pavel Lvovitsch. Would you like some wine or some
beer?"
Volochine sat down carefully in an arm-chair and his white, immaculate
form stood out sharply against the dingy oil-cloth cover.
"Please don't trouble. I just came to see you for a moment," he said,
somewhat coldly, as he surveyed the company.
"How's that? I'll send for some white wine. You like white wine, don't
you?" asked Sarudine, and he hurried out.
"Why on earth does the fool want to come here today?" he thought,
irritably, as he sent the orderly to fetch wine. "This Volochine will
say such things about me in Petersburg that I shan't be able to get a
footing in any decent house."
Meanwhile Volochine was taking stock of the others with undisguised
curiosity, feeling that he himself was immeasurably superior. There was
a look in his little glassy, grey eyes of unfeigned interest, as if he
were being shown a collection of wild beasts.
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