“Damn the fellow!” roared Trudolyubov, bringing his fist down on the table.
“Well, he wants a punch in the face for that,” squealed Ferfitchkin.
“We ought to turn him out,” muttered Simonov.
“Not a word, gentlemen, not a movement!” cried Zverkov solemnly, checking the general indignation.
“I thank you all, but I can show him for myself how much value I attach to his words.”
“Mr. Ferfitchkin, you will give me satisfaction tomorrow for your words just now!” I said aloud, turning with dignity to Ferfitchkin.
“A duel, you mean? Certainly,” he answered. But probably I was