I'm speaking the truth! This is a fact which will be realised.

That's why all of you and all of us now are either beastly atheists or careless, dissolute imbeciles, and nothing more.

And you too, Stepan Trofimovitch, I don't make an exception of you at all! In fact, it is on your account I am speaking, let me tell you that!" As a rule, after uttering such monologues (which happened to him pretty frequently) Shatov snatched up his cap and rushed to the door, in the full conviction that everything was now over, and that he had cut short all friendly relations with Stepan Trofimovitch for ever.

But the latter always succeeded in stopping him in time.
"Hadn't we better make it up, Shatov, after all these endearments," he would say, benignly holding out his hand to him from his arm-chair.
Shatov, clumsy and bashful, disliked sentimentality.

Externally he was rough, but inwardly, I believe, he had great delicacy.