“Give me ten, you scoundrel!”

“Why are you so abusive. Wait a minute, I must light a candle; you’ve broken the window.⁠ ⁠… Nobody swears like that at night. Here you are!” He held a note to him out of the window.

Shatov seized it⁠—it was a note for five roubles.

“On my honour I can’t do more, if you were to murder me, I couldn’t; the day after tomorrow I can give you it all, but now I can do nothing.”

“I am not going away!” roared Shatov.

“Very well, take it, here’s some more, see, here’s some more, and I won’t give more. You can shout at the top of your voice, but I won’t give more, I won’t, whatever happens, I won’t, I won’t.”

He was in a perfect frenzy, desperate and perspiring. The two notes he had just given him were each for a rouble. Shatov had seven roubles altogether now.