His wrinkles quivered, and carried away by his words, he trembled, closed his eyes now and then, and smacked his lips as though tasting his own wisdom.
"And then those who will take the upper hand in the confusion will arrange life wisely, after their own fashion.

Then things won't go at random, but as if by rote.

It's a pity that we shall not live to see it!" The old man's words fell one after another upon Lubov like meshes of a big strong net--they fell and enmeshed her, and the girl, unable to free herself from them, maintained silence, dizzied by her father's words.
Staring into his face with an intense look, she sought support for herself in his words and heard in them something similar to what she had read in books, and which seemed to her the real truth.

But the malignant, triumphant laughter of her father stung her heart, and the wrinkles, which seemed to creep about on his face like so many dark little snakes, inspired her with a certain fear for herself in his presence.

She felt that he was turning her aside from what had seemed so simple and so easy in her dreams.
"Papa!" she suddenly asked the old man, in obedience to a thought and a desire that unexpectedly flashed through her mind.