face was pale grey, and trembled. With his whole force he banged his fist on the table, and said in a hoarse voice—
“I will not tolerate this!”
And at the same moment Pobiedimsky jumped from his chair. As pale as Feodor and looking equally vicious, he strode up to Tatiana Ivanovna, and banged his fist on the table.
“I will not . . . tolerate this!” he exclaimed.
“I don't understand. What is the matter?” asked my uncle.
“I will not tolerate this!” repeated Feodor. And again he banged his fist noisily on the table.
My uncle rose from his seat and blinked timidly. He tried to say something, but astonishment and fright prevented him uttering a word; and, leaving his hat behind, he tottered with old-man's steps out of the wing. When a little later my terrified mother ran into the wing, Feodor and Pobiedimsky, like a pair of blacksmiths, were banging their fists on the table and roaring, “I will not tolerate this!”
“What on earth has happened?” asked my mother. “Why have you insulted my brother? What is the matter?”
But seeing Tatiana Ivanovna's pale, frightened face and the glare of her raging husband, my mother quickly guessed what was the matter. She sighed and shook her head.
