It isn't your genre." "Speak to me more simply, sir," said Foma, having listened attentively to his words.
"More simply?
Very well.

I want to say, give up thinking of this little lady.

She is poisonous food for you." "She told me the same," put in Foma, gloomily.
"She told you ?" Ookhtishchev asked and became thoughtful.

"Now, I'll tell you, shouldn't we perhaps go and have supper ?" "Let's go," Foma assented.

And he suddenly roared obdurately, clinching his fists and waving them in the air: "Well, let us go, and I'll get wound up; I'll break loose, after all this, so you can't hold me back!" "What for?
We'll do it modestly." "No! wait!" said Foma, anxiously, seizing him by the shoulder.