piece of dirty frozen snow thrown up from the road hit me a painful blow
in the face.

The runaway horses ran up the hill as rapidly as they had downhill, and
before I had time to shout to Nikanor my sledge was flying along on
the level in an old pine forest, and the tall pines were stretching out
their shaggy white paws to me from all directions.

"I have gone out of my mind, and the coachman's drunk," I thought.
"Good!"

I found Ivan Ivanitch at home. He laughed till he coughed, laid his head
on my breast, and said what he always did say on meeting me:

"You grow younger and younger. I don't know what dye you use for your
hair and your beard; you might give me some of it."

"I've come to return your call, Ivan Ivanitch," I said untruthfully.
"Don't be hard on me; I'm a townsman, conventional; I do keep count of
calls."

"I am delighted, my dear fellow. I am an old man; I like respect....
Yes."

From his voice and his blissfully smiling face, I could see that he was
greatly flattered by my visit. Two peasant women helped me off with my
coat in the entry, and a peasant in a red shirt hung it on a hook, and
when Ivan Ivanitch and I went into his little study, two barefooted
little girls were sitting on the floor looking at a picture-book; when
they saw us they jumped up and ran away, and a tall, thin old woman