that sweet, drowsy indolence which makes one want to sleep and
stretch and smile; while his new acquaintances looked at him
good-naturedly and asked him whether his father and mother were
living, how much he earned a month, how often he went to the
theatre. . . .

Ognev recalled his expeditions about the neighbourhood, the picnics,
the fishing parties, the visit of the whole party to the convent
to see the Mother Superior Marfa, who had given each of the visitors
a bead purse; he recalled the hot, endless typically Russian arguments
in which the opponents, spluttering and banging the table with their
fists, misunderstand and interrupt one another, unconsciously
contradict themselves at every phrase, continually change the
subject, and after arguing for two or three hours, laugh and say:
"Goodness knows what we have been arguing about! Beginning with one
thing and going on to another!"

"And do you remember how the doctor and you and I rode to Shestovo?"
said Ivan Alexeyitch to Vera as they reached the copse. "It was
there that the crazy saint met us: I gave him a five-kopeck piece,
and he crossed himself three times and flung it into the rye. Good
heavens! I am carrying away such a mass of memories that if I could
gather them together into a whole it would make a good nugget of
gold! I don't understand why clever, perceptive people crowd into
Petersburg and Moscow and don't come here. Is there more truth and
freedom in the Nevsky and in the big damp houses than here? Really,
the idea of artists, scientific men, and journalists all living
crowded together in furnished rooms has always seemed to me a
mistake."