In anger, of course, there has been a progress compared with L--n, even compared with Lermontov.

There was perhaps more malignant anger in Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch than in both put together, but it was a calm, cold, if one may so say, _reasonable_ anger, and therefore the most revolting and most terrible possible.

I repeat again, I considered him then, and I still consider him (now that everything is over), a man who, if he received a slap in the face, or any equivalent insult, would be certain to kill his assailant at once, on the spot, without challenging him.
Yet, in the present case, what happened was something different and amazing.
He had scarcely regained his balance after being almost knocked over in this humiliating way, and the horrible, as it were, sodden, thud of the blow in the face had scarcely died away in the room when he seized Shatov by the shoulders with both hands, but at once, almost at the same instant, pulled both hands away and clasped them behind his back.

He did not speak, but looked at Shatov, and turned as white as his shirt.

But, strange to say, the light in his eyes seemed to die out.