Page:World Fiction 1922–1923.djvu/118

116 ‘Well,’ he enquired. ‘What’s the news?’ ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘What do you mean “Nothing”?’... ‘Just that—nothing’... ‘Look here! What do you mean...’

“I am asleep!” I shouted. “Good-night! Good-night! GOOD NIGHT!”

Maxim Semionovitch untied his tie.

“Good-night... ‘What do you mean?’ he said, ‘by answering “Nothing.” That’s not polite, you know’... ‘What else could I reply to you if there is no news?’ I said, ‘From nothing there is nothing. Why should I start to talk about something if it is all old?’... ‘No’, said he, ‘but there is a certain limit... One can be silent all right, but...’

Slowly and noiselessly I dropped over a deep precipice, and sleep covered everything like a heavy soft fur coat...

...A sunbeam pierced through my closed eyelids and forced me to open my eyes. Hearing someone talking, I turned over on my side and saw Semionovitch wrapped in his blanket. He was still speaking slowly, looking up at the ceiling... “‘I demand,’ she said, ‘a divorce because I wanted to marry a living man, not a senseless voiceless image... Why don’t you speak?’

“‘My dear little Lydia,’ I said, ‘what shall I say?’”

THE HIGH COST OF LIVING

World Fiction - p118.png

“Our last $10 bill. Hardly enough for cocaine for three days” (Simplicissimus—Munich)