this annoyed the man

'What's your job?'

'I'm a poet,' admitted Ivan with slight unwillingness.

This annoyed the man.

'Just my bad luck!' he exclaimed, but immediately regretted it, apologised and asked : 'What's your name?'

'Bezdomny.'

'Oh . . .' said the man frowning.

'What, don't you like my poetry?' asked Ivan with curiosity.

'No, I don't.'

'Have you read any of it?'

'I've never read any of your poetry!' said the visitor tetchily.

'Then how can you say that?'

'Why shouldn't I?' retorted the visitor. 'I've read plenty of other poetry. I don't suppose by some miracle that yours is any better, but I'm ready to take it on trust. Is your poetry good?'

'Stupendous!' said Ivan boldly.

'Don't write any more! ' said the visitor imploringly.

- Mikhail Bugalkov, The Master and Margarita (trans. Michael Glenny).