’ they permeated all his thoughts and feelings.

‘He’s kissed his dog and licked the jug! ... Daddy Eroshka has kissed his dog!’ suddenly the little Cossacks who had been spinning their tops under the window shouted, looking towards the side street. ‘He’s drunk his bitch, and his dagger!’ shouted the boys, crowding together and stepping backwards.

These shouts were addressed to Daddy Eroshka, who with his gun on his shoulder and some pheasants hanging at his girdle was returning from his shooting expedition.

‘I have done wrong, lads, I have!’ he said, vigorously swinging his arms and looking up at the windows on both sides of the street. ‘I have drunk the bitch; it was wrong,’ he repeated,