'Well, no,' retorted Bazarov; 'a piece of meat's better than a piece of bread even from the chemical point of view.'
'You are studying chemistry? That is my passion. I've even invented a new sort of composition myself.'
'A composition? You?'
'Yes. And do you know for what purpose? To make dolls' heads so that they shouldn't break. I'm practical, too, yon see. But everything's not quite ready yet. I've still to read Liebig. By the way, have you read Kislyakov's article on Female Labour, in the Moscow Gazette? Read it please. You're interested in the woman question, I suppose? And in the schools too? What does your friend do? What is his name?'
Madame Kukshin shed her questions one after another with affected negligence, not waiting for an answer; spoilt children talk so to their nurses.
'My name's Arkady Nikolaitch Kirsanov,' said Arkady, 'and I'm doing nothing.'
Evdoksya giggled. 'How charming! What, don't you smoke? Victor, do you know, I'm very angry with you.'
'What for?'
'They tell me you've begun singing the praises of George Sand again. A retrograde woman, and nothing else! How can people compare her with Emerson! She hasn't an idea on education, nor physiology, nor anything. She'd never, I'm persuaded, heard of embryology, and in these days—what can be done without that?' (Evdoksya even threw up her hands.) 'Ah, what a wonderful article Elisyevitch has written on that subject! He's a gentleman of genius.' (Evdoksya constantly made use of the word 'gentleman' instead of the word 'man.') 'Bazarov, sit by me on the sofa. You don't know, perhaps, I'm awfully afraid of you.'
'Why so? Allow me to ask.'