'Where are you flying to?
Fool, fool!' He rose and with his thick fingers began to drive away the moths.
'You'll burn, little fool! Fly this way, there's plenty of room.' He spoke tenderly, trying to catch them delicately by their wings with his thick fingers and then letting them fly again.

'You are killing yourself and I am sorry for you!' He sat a long time chattering and sipping out of the bottle.

Olenin paced up and down the yard.

Suddenly he was struck by the sound of whispering outside the gate.

Involuntarily holding his breath, he heard a woman's laughter, a man's voice, and the sound of a kiss.
Intentionally rustling the grass under his feet he crossed to the opposite side of the yard, but after a while the wattle fence creaked.
A Cossack in a dark Circassian coat and a white sheepskin cap passed along the other side of the fence (it was Luke), and a tall woman with a white kerchief on her head went past Olenin.