"You don't care much for oysters, do you?" said Stepan

Arkadyevitch, emptying his wine glass, "or you're worried about

something. Eh?"

He wanted Levin to be in good spirits. But it was not that Levin

was not in good spirits; he was ill at ease. With what he had in

his soul, he felt sore and uncomfortable in the restaurant, in

the midst of private rooms where men were dining with ladies, in

all this fuss and bustle; the surroundings of bronzes, looking

glasses, gas, and waiters--all of it was offensive to him. He

was afraid of sullying what his soul was brimful of.

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"I? Yes, I am; but besides, all this bothers me," he said. "You

can't conceive how queer it all seems to a country person like

me, as queer as that gentleman's nails I saw at your place..."

"Yes, I saw how much interested you were in poor Grinevitch's

nails," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, laughing.

"It's too much for me," responded Levin. "Do try, now, and put

yourself in my place, take the point of view of a country person.

We in the country try to bring our hands into such a state as

will be most convenient for working with. So we cut our nails;

sometimes we turn up our sleeves. And here people purposely let

their nails grow as long as they will, and link on small saucers

by way of studs, so that they can do nothing with their hands."

Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled gaily.

"Oh, yes, that's just a sign that he has no need to do coarse

work. His work is with the mind..."

"Maybe. But still it's queer to me, just as at this moment it

seems queer to me that we country folks try to get our meals over

as soon as we can, so as to be ready for our work, while here are

we trying to drag out our meal as long as possible, and with that

object eating oysters..."

"Why, of course," objected Stepan Arkadyevitch. "But that's just

the aim of civilization--to make everything a source of

enjoyment."

"Well, if that's its aim, I'd rather be a savage."

"And so you are a savage. All you Levins are savages."

Levin sighed. He remembered his brother Nikolay, and felt

ashamed and sore, and he scowled; but Oblonsky began speaking of

a subject which at once drew his attention.

"Oh, I say, are you going tonight to our people, the

Shtcherbatskys', I mean?" he said, his eyes sparkling

significantly as he pushed away the empty rough shells, and drew

the cheese towards him.




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