“In the first place, I certainly do think it impossible, and in the second, it’s hardly worthwhile wanting such a thing.”
“But why, my dear sir?” Kollomietzev asked; the polite tone was intended to soothe Sipiagin, who sat very uneasily on his chair.
“Because in twenty or thirty years your landed gentry won’t be here in any case.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because by that time the land will fall into the hands of people in no way distinguished by their origin.”
“Do you mean the merchants?”
“For the most part probably the merchants.”
“But how will it happen?”
“They’ll buy it, of course.”
“From the gentry?”