them from working with the same desperate energy as when
they are not with child. In short, the inhabitants of the place
resemble needles and threads with which some rough, clumsy, and
impatient hand is for ever trying to darn a ragged cloth which as
constantly parts and rends.

* * * * *

The chief person of repute in the suburb is my landlord, one Antipa
Vologonov--a little old man who keeps a shop of "odd wares," and also
lends money on pledge.

Unfortunately, Antipa is a sufferer from a long-standing tendency to
rheumatism, which has left him bow-legged, and has twisted and swollen
his fingers to the extent that they will not bend. Hence, he always
keeps his hands tucked into his sleeves, though seemingly he has the
less use for them in that, even when he withdraws them from their
shelter, he does so as cautiously as though he were afraid of their
becoming dislocated.

On the other hand, he never loses his temper, and he never grows
excited.

"Neither of those things suits me," he will say, "for my heart is
dilated, and might at any moment fail."

As for his face, it has high cheekbones which in places blossom into
dark red blotches; an expression as calm as that of the face of a
Khirghiz; a chin whence dangle wisps of mingled grey, red, and flaxen
hair of a perpetually moist appearance; oblique and ever-changing eyes
which are permanently contracted; a pair of thick, parti-coloured
eyebrows which cast deep shadows over the eyes; and temples whereon a
number of blue veins struggle with an irregular, sparse coating of
bristles. Finally, about his whole personality there is something ever
variable and intangible.

Also, his gait is irritatingly slow; and the more so owing to his coat,
which, of a cut devised by himself, consists, as it were, of cassock,
sarafan [jacket], and waistcoat in one. As often as not he finds the
skirts of the garment cumbering his legs; whereupon he has to stop and
give them a kick. And thus it comes about that permanently the skirts
are ragged and torn.

"No need for hurry," is his customary remark. "Always, in time, does
one win to one's pitch in the marketplace."

His speech is cast in rounded periods, and displays a great love for
ecclesiastical terms. On the occurrence of one such term, he pauses
thereafter as though mentally he were adding to the term a very thick,
a very black, full stop. Yet always he will converse with anyone, and
at great lengt