Instead of Sorry — Goodbye

“Lily, why didn’t you even feed your husband?” our friend’s (Sergey’s) buddy boomed—he’s the one we were unlucky enough to visit outside the city.
“Afraid he’ll run away for good?”

“In what way—didn’t feed him? With a spoon?” I couldn’t help but add a sharp detail.

“Yes, at least put some food down, serve him a fork. Pour it into his glass,” his wife chimed in at once. “And he really does drop by Ninka… Oh, not without reason. That Serjo—licks her from head to toe, literally.”
They burst out laughing, and I shrank all together as if before a blow. Where does my husband go by? “By where?!”