Zotov grumbled for half an hour, growing more and more irritated.  In the end, unable to control the anger that boiled up in him, he jumped up, stamped with his goloshes, and growled out to be heard all over the yard: 

“I am not obliged to feed you, you loafers!  I am not some millionaire for you to eat me out of house and home!  I have nothing to eat myself, you cursed carcases, the cholera take you!  I get no pleasure or profit out of you; nothing but trouble and ruin, Why don’t you give up the ghost?  Are you such personages that even death won’t take you?  You can live, damn you! but I don’t want to feed you!  I have had enough of you!  I don’t want to!”

Zotov grew wrathful and indignant, and the horse and the dog listened.  Whether these two dependents understood that they were being reproached for living at his expense, I don’t know, but their stomachs looked more pinched than ever, and their whole figures shrivelled up, grew gloomier and more abject than before. . . .  Their submissive air exasperated Zotov more than ever.

“Get away!” he shouted, overcome by a sort of inspiration.  “Out of my house!  Don’t let me set eyes on you again!  I am not obliged to keep all sorts of rubbish in my yard!  Get away!”

The old man moved with little hurried steps to the gate, opened it, and picking up a stick from the ground, began driving out his dependents.  The horse shook its head, moved its shoulder-blades, and limped to the gate; the dog followed him.  Both of them went out into the street, and, after walking some twenty paces, stopped at the fence.

“I’ll give it you!” Zotov threatened them.

When he had driven out his dependents he felt calmer, and began sweeping the yard.  From time to time he peeped out into the street:  the horse and the dog were standing like posts by the fence, looking dejectedly towards the gate.

“Try how you can do without me,” muttered the old man, feeling as though a weight of anger were being lifted from his heart.  “Let somebody else look after you now!  I am stingy and ill-tempered. . . .  It’s nasty living with me, so you try living with other people . . . .  Yes. . . .”

After enjoying the crushed expression of his dependents, and grumbling to his heart’s content, Zotov went out of the yard, and, assuming a ferocious air, shouted: 

“Well, why are you standing there?  Whom are you waiting for?  Standing right across the middle of the road and preventing the public from passing!  Go into the yard!”

The horse and the dog with drooping heads and a guilty air turned towards the gate.  Lyska, probably feeling she did not deserve forgiveness, whined piteously.

“Stay you can, but as for food, you’ll get nothing from me!  You may die, for all I care!”