“What a vile beast !” Sharikov spoke up suddenly and slithered out, squatting on his haunches, with a soup bowl in his hand. Bormenthal slammed the door. He could not restrain himself any longer, and burst out laughing. Philip Philippovich’s nostrils flared and his glasses glinted. “To whom are you referring,” he asked Sharikov from his height, “if I may know?” “The tom, of course. Such scum,” replied Sharikov, his eyes shifting from corner to corner. “You know, Sharikov,” Philip Philippovich said, catching his breath, “I have positively never seen a more brazen creature than you.” Bormenthal
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