'Why?'

'I'll tell you why. I crossed the Oka lately in a ferry boat with a
gentleman. The ferry got fixed in a narrow place; they had to drag the
carriages ashore by hand. This gentleman had a very heavy coach.
While the ferrymen were straining themselves to drag the coach on to
the bank, the gentleman groaned so, standing in the ferry, that one
felt quite sorry for him. . . . Well, I thought, here's a fresh
illustration of the system of division of labour! That's just like
our modern literature; other people do the work, and it does the
groaning.'

Darya Mihailovna smiled.

'And that is called expressing contemporary life,' continued Pigasov
indefatigably, 'profound sympathy with the social question and so on.
. . . Oh, how I hate those grand words!'

'Well, the women you attack so--they at least don't use grand words.'

Pigasov shrugged his shoulders.

'They don't use them because they don't understand them.'

Darya Mihailovna flushed slightly.

'You are beginning to be impertinent, African Semenitch!' she remarked
with a forced smile.

There was complete stillness in the room.