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Fanatically devoted to his work, Kuzmitchov always, even in his sleep and at church when they were singing, "Like the cherubim," thought about his business and could never forget it for a moment; and now he was probably dreaming about bales of wool, waggons, prices, Varlamov. . . . Father Christopher, now, a soft, frivolous and absurd person, had never all his life been conscious of anything which could, like a boa-constrictor, coil about his soul and hold it tight.
"What a ferocious fellow you've got here, Moisey Moisevitch! God bless him!" said Father Christopher with a smile. "You ought to find him a place or a wife or something. . . . There's no knowing what to make of him. . . ." Kuzmitchov frowned angrily. Moisey Moisevitch looked uneasily and inquiringly at his brother and the visitors again. "Solomon, go away!" he said shortly.
Only Solomon stood in the corner with his arms folded, as though nothing had happened, and smiled contemptuously as before. "Your Excellency must excuse us for not being tidy," moaned Moisey Moisevitch with the agonizingly sweet smile, taking no more notice of Kuzmitchov or Father Christopher, but swaying his whole person so as to avoid dropping to pieces. "We are plain folks, your Excellency."
"Stop!" cried Kuzmitchov. "Pull up! Woa!" Deniska threw his whole body backwards and pulled up the horses. "Come here!" Kuzmitchov shouted to the shepherd. "Call off the dogs, curse them!"
The travellers got out to rest by the stream and feed the horses. Kuzmitchov, Father Christopher and Yegorushka sat down on a mat in the narrow strip of shade cast by the chaise and the unharnessed horses. The nice pleasant thought that the heat had imprinted in Father Christopher's brain craved expression after he had had a drink of water and eaten a hard-boiled egg.
Anxious not to think of anything, he quickly put his bundle under his head and covered himself with his coat, and stretching his legs out and shrinking a little from the dew, he laughed with content. "Sleep, sleep, sleep, . . ." he thought. "Don't be unkind to him, you devils!" he heard Deniska's voice below. "Good-bye, lads; good luck to you," shouted Kuzmitchov. "I rely upon you!"
Obedience is more than fasting and prayer. "I suppose you have forgotten all your learning?" observed Kuzmitchov. "I should think so! Thank God, I have reached my eightieth year! Something of philosophy and rhetoric I do remember, but languages and mathematics I have quite forgotten." Father Christopher screwed up his eyes, thought a minute and said in an undertone: "What is a substance?
"And how beautiful she is," thought Yegorushka, remembering her face and smile. Kuzmitchov, too, was probably thinking about the countess. For when the chaise had driven a mile and a half he said: "But doesn't that Kazimir Mihalovitch plunder her right and left! The year before last when, do you remember, I bought some wool from her, he made over three thousand from my purchase alone."
After drinking six glasses of tea in silence, Kuzmitchov cleared a space before him on the table, took his bag, the one which he kept under his head when he slept under the chaise, untied the string and shook it. Rolls of paper notes were scattered out of the bag on the table. "While we have the time, Father Christopher, let us reckon up," said Kuzmitchov.
A creature is a self-existing object, not requiring anything else for its completion." He shook his head and laughed with feeling. "Spiritual nourishment!" he said. "Of a truth matter nourishes the flesh and spiritual nourishment the soul!" "Learning is all very well," sighed Kuzmitchov, "but if we don't overtake Varlamov, learning won't do much for us." "A man isn't a needle we shall find him.
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