face was interesting: a big forehead, grey eyes, a flat little nose, small close-set teeth, and the expression on his face dull and impudent at once, like a puppy hard on a hare. Vassiliev had the thought that he would like to touch this lackey's hair: is it rough or soft? It must be rough like a dog's.
III
Because he had had two glasses the painter suddenly got rather drunk, and unnaturally lively.
"Let's go to another place," he added, waving his hands. "I'll introduce you to the best!"
When he had taken his friends into the house which was according to him the best, he proclaimed a persistent desire to dance a quadrille. The medico began to grumble that they would have to pay the musicians a rouble but agreed to be his vis-à-vis. The dance began.
It was just as bad in the best house as in the worst. Just the same mirrors and pictures were here, the same coiffures and dresses. Looking round at the furniture and the costumes Vassiliev now understood that it was not lack of taste, but something that might be called the particular taste and style of Sv Street, quite impossible to find anywhere else, something complete, not accidental, evolved in time. After he had been
