Then he
drooped his head and said to Foma:
"Let's go from here."
"Let's go. Though I don't mind sitting a little longer. It's
interesting. They behave so nobly, the devils. By God!"
"I can't bear it any longer. I feel cold. I am suffocating."
"Well, come then."
Foma rose to his feet, removed his cap, and, bowing to the
compositors, said loudly and cheerfully:
"Thank you, gentlemen, for your hospitality! Good-bye!"
They immediately surrounded him and spoke to him persuasively:
"Stay here! Where are you going? We might sing all together, eh?"
"No, I must go, it would be disagreeable to my friend to go
alone. I am going to escort him. I wish you a jolly feast!"
"Eh, you ought to wait a little!" exclaimed the stout fellow, and
then whispered:
"Some one will escort him home!"
The consumptive also remarked in a low voice:
"You stay here. We'll escort him to town, and get him into a cab
and--there you are!"
Foma felt like staying there, and at the same time was afraid of
something. While Yozhov rose to his feet, and, clutching at the
sleeves of his overcoat, muttered:
"Come, the devil take them!"
"Till we meet again, gentlemen! I'm going!" said Foma and
departed amid exclamations of polite regret.
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