Chichikov, being a most ticklish man and even on occasion a finical one, when he drew in air through a fresh nose in the morning, would only wince and toss his head, saying: “Devil knows, brother, you’re sweating or something. You ought to go to a bathhouse.” To which Petrushka made no reply and straightaway tried to busy himself somehow: either approaching his master’s hanging tailcoat with a brush, or simply putting things in order. What he was thinking all the while he stood there silently—perhaps he was saying to himself: “And you’re a good one, too, aren’t you sick of repeating the same
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😂😂😂
