Instead of a freshly starched collar, his neck was tightly clasped by the red band of his silk BESHMET.

He wore Circassian dress but did not wear it well, and anyone would have known him for a Russian and not a Tartar brave.

It was the thing--but not the real thing.

But for all that, his whole person breathed health, joy, and satisfaction.
'Yes, it seems funny to you,' said Vanyusha, 'but just try to talk to these people yourself: they set themselves against one and there's an end of it.

You can't get as much as a word out of them.' Vanyusha angrily threw down a pail on the threshold.