my direction. Zverkov, without a word, examined me as though I were an insect. I dropped my eyes. Simonov made haste to fill up the glasses with champagne.
Trudolyubov raised his glass, as did everyone else but me.
“Your health and good luck on the journey!” he cried to Zverkov. “To old times, to our future, hurrah!”
They all tossed off their glasses, and crowded round Zverkov to kiss him. I did not move; my full glass stood untouched before me.
“Why, aren’t you going to drink it?” roared Trudolyubov, losing patience and turning menacingly to me.
“I want to make a speech separately, on my own account … and then I’ll drink it, Mr. Trudolyubov.”
“Spiteful brute!” muttered Simonov. I drew myself up in my chair and feverishly seized my glass, prepared for something extraordinary, though I did not know myself precisely what I was going to say.
“ Silence! ” cried Ferfitchkin. “Now for a display of wit!”
Zverkov waited very gravely, knowing what was coming.
“ Mr. Lieutenant Zverkov,” I began, “let me tell you that I hate phrases, phrasemongers and men in corsets … that’s the first point, and there is a second one to follow it.”
There was a general stir.
“The second point is: I hate ribaldry and ribald talkers. Especially ribald talkers! The third point: I love justice, truth and honesty.” I went on almost mechanically, for I was beginning to shiver with horror myself