But I cannot leave him....

We talk of her often.

And yet he despises me and wonders that she can have loved me...." I had a fear lest Andrey Vassilievitch should cry.

He seemed so desolate there, giving strange little self-important coughs and sniffs, beating the ground with his smart little military boot.
Across the river the black wall of cloud had returned and now hung above the forest of S----, that lay sullenly, in its shadow, forbidding and thick, itself like a cloud.

The world was cold, the Nestor like a snake....