We'll drink our tea in the morning coolness.

I feel like drinking now hot, strong tea.

Be quicker." The old man rose with difficulty from the chair, and, bent and barefooted, left the room in a staggering gait.

Foma looked at his father, and a shooting chill of fear made his heart shrink.

He washed himself in haste, and hurried out into the garden.
There, under an old, spreading apple-tree sat Ignat in a big oaken armchair.