Sarudine flushed to the roots of his hair. Had she called him "wretch,"
or "villain," he could have borne that calmly, but "brute" was such a
coarse word so absolutely opposed to his conception of his own engaging
personality, that it utterly stunned him. Even the whites of his eyes
became bloodshot. He sniggered uneasily, shrugged his shoulders,
buttoned and then unbuttoned his jacket, feeling thoroughly upset. But
simultaneously a sense of satisfaction and relief waxed greater within
him. All was at an end. It irked him to think that he would never again
possess such a woman as Lida, that he had lost so comely and desirable
a mistress. But he dismissed all such regret with a gesture of disdain.
"Devil take the lot! I can get hold of as many as I please!"
He put his jacket straight, and, his lips still quivering, lit a
cigarette. Then assuming his wonted air of nonchalance, he returned to
his guests.
CHAPTER XVIII.
All the gamblers except the drunken Malinowsky had lost their interest
in the game. They were intensely curious to know who the lady was that
had come to see Sarudine, Those who guessed that it was Lida Sanina
felt instinctively jealous, picturing to themselves her white body in
Sarudine's embrace.
Pages:
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238