The wrinkles of his cheeks all rose upward, and his small eyes in their dark sockets were smiling sarcastically, coldly.
And the wrinkles on his forehead formed an odd pattern, rising up to his bald crown.

His face was stern and merciless, and breathed melancholy and coldness upon Foma's soul.
"So there's no way out for me ?" asked Foma, gloomily.

"You are blocking all my ways ?" "There is a way.

Go there! I shall guide you.

Don't worry, it will be right! You will come just to your proper place." This self-confidence, this unshakable boastfulness aroused Foma's indignation.