“Thank you. If I am not in the way....”
“How can you talk like that. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“Forgive me, Tatiana Markovna.”
“Better eat your dinner; the soup is getting cold.”
“I am hungry too,” he said suddenly, seizing his spoon. He ate his soup silently, looking round him as if he were seeking the road to Moscow, and he preserved the same demeanour all through the meal.
“It is so quiet here,” he said after dinner, as he looked out of the window. “There is still some green left, and the air is so fresh. Listen, Boris Pavlovich, I should like to bring the library here.”
“As you like. To-morrow, as far as I am concerned. It is your possession to do as you please with.”
“What should I do with it now? I will have it brought over, so that I can take care of it; else in the end that man Mark will....”
Raisky strode about the room, Vera’s eyes were fixed on her needlework, and Tatiana Markovna went to the window. Shortly after this Raisky took Leonti to the old house, to show him the room that Tatiana Markovna had arranged for him. Leonti went from one window to another to see which of them commanded a view of the Moscow road.