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RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 131
of candles rendered the atmosphere stifling. Two
men-servants, in tail-coats and white gloves, carried around
trays with tea, fruits, and sweets. My mother, who had
grown unused to city life, which she had formerly
loved so well, was in a state of inward trepidation
and excitement. Was everything as it should be?
Was n’t it too old-fashioned, too countryfied ? Would
not her former friends think that she had fallen
behind their social circle ?
The guests had nothing to do with each other. They
were all dreadfully bored, but, like well-bred people,
for whom wearisome parties constitute one of the
inevitable ingredients of life, they submitted
unmur-muringly to their fate, and bore all this dullness
heroically.
But it is easy to imagine what happened to poor
Dostoévsky when he fell into this society! Both in
figure and appearance he presented a sharp contrast
to all the others. In a fit of self-sacrifice he had
deemed it requisite to dön an evening suit, and this
dress, which set badly on him, enraged him during
the whole evening. He began to get angry from the
very moment when he set foot across the threshold of
the drawing-room. Like all nervous people, he felt
an irritating confusion when he got into a company
of strangers, and the more stupid, the more
unsympathetic, the more insignificant this company was, the
more dire was his confusion. Excited by this feeling
of vexation, he was desirous of venting it on some one.
My mother made haste to present him to the guests;
but in place of a greeting he muttered something
unintelligible, resembling a growl, and turned his
back on them. But worst of all, he immediately
exhibited an intention to monopolize Aniuta. He
carried her off to a corner of the drawing-room, and
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