“And what am I to do now?” thought he: “borrow of someone and go away?” A lady passed him along the pavement. “There’s a stupid woman,” thought he, for some unknown reason. “There’s no one to borrow of⁠ ⁠… I have ruined my youth!” He came to the bazaar. A tradesman in a fox-fur cloak stood at the door of his shop touting for customers. “If I had not taken that eight I should have recovered my losses.” An old beggar-woman followed him whimpering. “There’s no one to borrow from.” Some man or other drove past in a bearskin cloak; a policeman was standing at his post. “What could one do that is unusual? Shoot at them? No, it’s dull.⁠ ⁠… I have ruined my youth!⁠ ⁠… Ah, there are fine horse-collars and trappings hanging there. There now, if one could get into a troika: 185 ‘Gee-up, beauties!’⁠ ⁠… I’ll go back. Loúhnof will come soon, and we’ll play.”