“That’s a fine devil! A mere sharper, and they’re common enough,” remarked the mathematician.
“Yes, I know there’s a lot of them.... But it’s frightful and it’s that, just because it’s so common; that same poor necktie, linen, and coat.... If it were only frayed, it would be like yours or mine....”
“All right, Pavel Semenovich.... Excuse me, but you have a strange philosophy.”
The mathematician seemed rather insulted. Pavel Semenovich turned towards the light, and I had a good view of his broad face, straight brows and gray, thoughtful eyes hidden under his stern forehead.
Both paused. For a little while you could hear only the hurried roar of the train. Then Pavel Semenovich began again in his even voice.
“At the station of N-sk I happened, you know, to walk up toward the engine. I’m a little acquainted with the engineer.... A chronically sleepy individual with swollen eyes.”
“Yes?” asked his companion indifferently, and not trying to conceal his feelings.
“Certainly.... A natural condition. He hadn’t slept for thirty-six hours.”
“M-n, yes.... That is a long while.”
“I thought so too: we fall asleep.... The train is flying at full speed.... And it’s run by a man who is almost stupefied....”