'I like it when you talk. It's just like a little brook babbling.'
Fenitchka turned her head away. 'What a person you are to talk!' she commented, picking the flowers over with her finger. 'And how can you care to listen to me? You have talked with such clever ladies.'
'Ah, Fedosya Nikolaevna! believe me; all the clever ladies in the world are not worth your little elbow.'
'Come, there's another invention!' murmured Fenitchka, clasping her hands.
Bazarov picked the book up from the ground.
'That's a medical book; why do you throw it away?'
'Medical?' repeated Fenitchka, and she turned to him again. 'Do you know, ever since you gave me those drops—do you remember?—Mitya has slept so well! I really can't think how to thank you; you are so good, really.'
'But you have to pay doctors,' observed Bazarov with a smile. 'Doctors, you know yourself, are grasping people.'
Fenitchka raised her eyes, which seemed still darker from the whitish reflection cast on the upper part of her face, and looked at Bazarov. She did not know whether he was joking or not.
'If you please, we shall be delighted.... I must ask Nikolai Petrovitch ...'