Somewhere in the yard a calf was lowing pitifully.
Sasha glanced at Foma, with a sarcastic smile, and said: "There's another unfortunate creature lowing.

You ought to go to him; perhaps you could sing in unison.

And placing her hand on his curly head she jestingly pushed it on the side.
"What are people like yourself good for?
That's what you ought to think of.

What are you groaning about?
You are disgusted with being idle--occupy yourself, then, with business." "Oh Lord!" Foma nodded his head.

"It is hard for one to make himself understood.