THE HUNGRY GLEAM
his tea. In came the landlady herself. Her little black eyes twinkled as she called out sarcastically:
"The correspondence of Sergey Matveitch Moshkin, Esq."
And whilst he read the card she peered at him from under the yellow triangle of her brow and muttered:
"Letters won't pay for board and lodging. Letters won't fill your stomach. Better go to people and hunt for work, not strut like a Spaniard."
He read:
"Be kind enough to call to discuss matters from 6 to 7 p.m., 6th Line, No. 78, lodging 57."
Without signature.
Moshkin looked spitefully at the landlady. She stood at the door, fat, stiff, and calm like a great, staring doll. And she looked at him with cold, malicious, steady eyes.
Moshkin cried out:
"Basta!"
He struck with his fist on the table, stood up, and commenced to march up and down the room, all the while repeating:
"Basta!"
The landlady softly enquired:
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