He felt that he was seized by the waist and shoulders from behind, that someone seized his hand and bent it, trying to break it; that someone was crushing his toes; but he saw nothing, following with his bloodshot eyes the dark, heavy mass moaning and wriggling in his hand.

Finally, they tore him away and downed him, and, as through a reddish mist, he noticed before him on the floor, at his feet, the man he had thrashed.

Dishevelled, he was moving his legs over the floor, attempting to rise; two dark men were holding him by the arms, his hands were dangling in the air like broken wings, and, in a voice that was choking with sobs, he cried to Foma: "You mustn't beat me! You mustn't! I have an...
"Order.

You rascal! Oh, rascal! I have children.
"Everybody knows me! Scoundrel! Savage, O--O--O! You may expect a duel!" And Ookhtishchev spoke loudly in Foma's ear: "Come, my dear boy, for God's sake!" "Wait, I'll give him a kick in the face," begged Foma.

But he was dragged off.