of speech. Oh, what a tongue! What dreadful things you are saying,” cried the general, wringing his hands in real grief.
“I am intoxicated, general. I am having a day out, you know — it’s my birthday! I have long looked forward to this happy occasion.
Daria Alexeyevna, you see that nosegay-man, that Monsieur aux Camelias, sitting there laughing at us?”
“I am not laughing, Nastasia Philipovna; I am only listening with all my attention,” said Totski, with dignity.
“Well, why have I worried him, for five years, and never let him go free? Is he worth it? He is only just what he ought to be — nothing particular. He thinks I am to blame, too.