Then he took his son's wife away from him, and his son took to drink for grief and would have perished in drunkenness had he not come to himself in time and gone off to save himself in a hermitage, in Irgiz.

And when his mistress-daughter-in-law had passed away, Shchurov took into his house a dumb beggar-girl, who was living with him to this day, and who had recently borne him a dead child.

On his way to the hotel, where Anany stayed, Foma involuntarily recalled all this, and felt that Shchurov had become strangely interesting to him.
When Foma opened the door and stopped respectfully on the threshold of the small room, whose only window overlooked the rusty roof of the neighbouring house, he noticed that the old Shchurov had just risen from sleep, and sitting on his bed, leaning his hands against it, he stared at the ground; and he was so bent that his long, white beard fell over his knees.

But even bent, he was large.
"Who entered ?" asked Anany in a hoarse and angry voice, without lifting his head.
"I.

How do you do, Anany Savvich ?" The old man raised his head slowly and, winking his large eyes, looked at Foma.
"Ignat's son, is that right ?" "The same." "Well, come over here, sit down by the window.