Clutching his heart pause lasted a full minute. – So it was you, Holy Father, 'rasped Vorobyaninov,-hunting for my property? With these words Vorobyaninov holy father kicked his foot in the thigh. Father Fyodor contrived and maliciously kicked leader in the groin so that he bent over. – It's not your property. – Whose is it? – Not yours. – Whose is it? – Not yours, not yours. – Whose is whose? – Not yours. Hissing as they frantically kicked.
– Whose is it property? – cried the leader, plunging his foot in the belly of the Holy Father. Overcoming the pain, the Holy Father said firmly: – This is a nationalized property. – Nationalized? – Yes, yes, nationalized. They spoke with such extraordinary rapidity that the words flowed together. – Who nationalized? – Soviets! Soviet power! – By what authority? – Workers' power.
– Ah-ah-ah! ..- Said Vorobyaninov ledeneya.Vlastyu workers and peasants? – Yes-ah, sir! – Mm-m! .. So, maybe you, Holy Father, the party? – M-maybe? Here Vorobyaninov broke down and cried out 'can be! " juicy spit in the face of a good father, Fyodor. Father Fedor once spat in the face of Hippolytus Matveevich and also fell. There was nothing to wipe saliva: the hands were busy with a chair. Vorobyaninov made a noise of a door opening and pushed with all his might the enemy chair. The enemy fell, dragging a breathless Vorobyaninov. Fighting continued on the ground. Suddenly there was a crackling, broken off at once both front legs.