Shchurov was fixedly staring into his glass of tea, stroking his beard, and one could hear that something rattled in his breast, as if some burden was turning about in it.
"It's hard for you to live without your father, isn't it ?" said he.
"I am getting used to it," replied Foma.
"You are rich, and when Yakov dies, you will be richer still.

He'll leave everything to you." "I don't need it." "To whom else should he leave it?
He has but one daughter, and you ought to marry that daughter, and that she is your godsister and foster-sister--no matter! That can be arranged--and then you would be married.

What good is there in the life you are now leading?
I suppose you are forever running about with the girls ?" "No." "You don't say! Eh, eh, eh! the merchant is passing away.

A certain forester told me--I don't know whether he lied or not--that in former days the dogs were wolves, and then degenerated into dogs.

It is the same with our calling; we will soon also be dogs.