On Friday he had to write his Sunday feuilleton.

For all they paid him a hundred and twenty-five roubles a month; he worked fast, and devoted all his leisure time to the "survey and study of charitable institutions." Together with Foma he strolled about the clubs, hotels and taverns till late at night, drawing material everywhere for his articles, which he called "brushes for the cleansing of the conscience of society." The censor he styled as "superintendent of the diffusion of truth and righteousness in life," the newspaper he called "the go-between, engaged in introducing the reader to dangerous ideas," and his own work, "the sale of a soul in retail," and "an inclination to audacity against holy institutions." Foma could hardly make out when Yozhov jested and when he was in earnest.

He spoke of everything enthusiastically and passionately, he condemned everything harshly, and Foma liked it.

But often, beginning to argue enthusiastically, he refuted and contradicted himself with equal enthusiasm or wound up his speech with some ridiculous turn.

Then it appeared to Foma that that man loved nothing, that nothing was firmly rooted within him, that nothing guided him.