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You're not well, Masha. 'My head does ache a little, said Masha, to find some way of escape. 'There, I knew it. Nenila Makarievna put some scent on Masha's forehead. 'You're not feverish, though. Masha stooped down, and picked a thread off the floor. Nenila Makarievna's arms lay softly round Masha's slender waist.
Kister suddenly, apropos of nothing, plunged into a rather high-flown discourse upon love in the abstract, and upon friendship... but catching Nenila Makarievna's bright and vigilant eye he, as abruptly, changed the subject. The sunset was brilliant and glowing. A broad, level meadow lay outstretched before the birch copse.
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