Sarudine flushed to the roots of his hair. Had she called him "wretch,"
or "villain," he could have borne that calmly, but "brute" was such a
coarse word so absolutely opposed to his conception of his own engaging
personality, that it utterly stunned him. Even the whites of his eyes
became bloodshot. He sniggered uneasily, shrugged his shoulders,
buttoned and then unbuttoned his jacket, feeling thoroughly upset. But
simultaneously a sense of satisfaction and relief waxed greater within
him. All was at an end. It irked him to think that he would never again
possess such a woman as Lida, that he had lost so comely and desirable
a mistress. But he dismissed all such regret with a gesture of disdain.
"Devil take the lot! I can get hold of as many as I please!"
He put his jacket straight, and, his lips still quivering, lit a
cigarette. Then assuming his wonted air of nonchalance, he returned to
his guests.