“Moreover, it was also a mistake not to give them any money at all,” he was thinking, as he sadly made his way back to Lebezyatnikov's closet. “Devil take it, why did I turn into such a Jew? There wasn't even any calculation in it! I thought I'd keep them on a short tether for a bit, and get them to see me as their Providence, and now look! ... Pah! ... No, if I'd handed them, say, fifteen hundred meanwhile, for the trousseau, and for presents, for all sorts of little boxes, toilet cases, trinkets, fabrics, and all that trash from Knop's, and from the English store,[106] things would be better now...and firmer! They wouldn't have refused me so easily! They're of such mold that they'd be sure to regard it as their duty, in case of refusal, to return the gifts and the money; and to return them would be a bit difficult, and a pity! And conscience would prick them: how can you suddenly chase a man out like this, when all along he's been so generous and rather delicate?...Hm! I missed that one!” And snarling once more, Pyotr Petrovich told himself then and there—but only himself, naturally—that he was a fool.