"You have seen that fellow; he is worth twelve millions, and is the
meanest skinflint I ever met."

Nekhludoff felt an irresistible loathing toward this ready talker who,
by his tone of voice, meant to show that he and Nekhludoff belonged to
a different sphere than the other clients.

"He worried me to death. He is an awful rogue. I wanted to ease my
mind," said the lawyer, as if justifying his not speaking about
Nekhludoff's case. "And now as to your case. I have carefully examined
it, 'and could not approve the contents thereof,' as Tourgeniff has
it. That is to say, the lawyer was a wretched one, and he let slip all
the grounds of appeal."

"What have you decided to do?"

"One moment. Tell him," he turned to his clerk, who had just entered,
"that I will not change my terms. He can accept them or not, as he
pleases."

"He does not accept them."

"Well, then, let him go," said the lawyer, and his benign and joyful
countenance suddenly assumed a gloomy and angry expression.

"They say that lawyers take money for nothing," he said, again
assuming a pleasant expression. "I succeeded in obtaining the
discharge of an insolent debtor who was incarcerated on flimsy
accusations of fraud, and now they all run after me. And every such
case requires great labor. We, too, you know, leave some of our flesh