“What about the wife?” Artiom asked impatiently.
“The wife’s here too,” Vasilii Petrovich continued in a whisper, because they were approaching Brusilov, who indeed listened to his fellow conversant, the actively gesticulating Violar, with calmness and inarguable dignity. Their conversation was in English. “But of course, she’s in the female barracks.”
While they passed the pair, they remained silent.
“And here’s the one I’ve been looking for,” rejoiced Vasilii Petrovich. “Vladychka4 promised to give us some sour cream with onions.”
Artiom had just enough time to think what a great word “Vladychka” was, but the mention of sour cream with onion acted even more powerfully, and in a moment, he felt his whole mouth fill with saliva. He even laughed at himself, considering that it was someh
