"Well, are you sorry for him ?" "It's a pity!" said Foma, with tears in his voice.
"Yes.

So that's the kind of a fellow you are," said Ignat.
Then, after a moment's silence, he filled a wineglass with vodka, emptied it, and said sternly, in a slightly reprimanding tone: "There is no reason why you should pity him.

He brawled at random, and therefore got what he deserved.

I know him: he is a good fellow, industrious, strong and not a bit foolish.

But to argue is not his business; I may argue, because I am the master.