this gentleman' (she indicated Nezhdanov, and hesitated).
'What is it?' he said; 'tell me, please; what sort of man am I?'
'What sort of man are you? . . .' said Fimushka slowly, 'you're to be pitied─that's all.'
Nezhdanov shuddered.
'To be pitied? why so?'
'Oh! I pity you─that's all.'
'But why?'
'Oh, for reasons! My eye tells me so. Do you think I'm a fool? Oh, I'm cleverer than you, for all your red hair. . . . I pity you . . . that's your fortune!'
All were silent . . . they looked at one another, and were still silent.
'Well, good-bye, dear friends', Paklin cried, we've stayed too long and tired you, I'm afraid. It's time these gentlemen were off . . . and I'll see them on their way. Good-bye; thanks for your kind reception.'
'Good-bye, good-bye, come again, don't stand on ceremony,' Fomushka and Fimushka cried with one voice.. . . Then Fomushka struck up suddenly like a refrain:
'Many, many years of life.'
'Many, many years,' Kalliopitch chimed in quite unexpectedly in the bass, as he opened the door to the young men.
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