"Lunch, sir," said the old man.

"Is it really time? That's right; lunch, then."

Levin gave his scythe to Tit, and together with the peasants, who

were crossing the long stretch of mown grass, slightly sprinkled

with rain, to get their bread from the heap of coats, he went

towards his house. Only then he suddenly awoke to the fact that

he had been wrong about the weather and the rain was drenching

his hay.

"The hay will be spoiled," he said.

"Not a bit of it, sir; mow in the rain, and you'll rake in fine

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weather!" said the old man.

Levin untied his horse and rode home to his coffee. Sergey

Ivanovitch was only just getting up. When he had drunk his

coffee, Levin rode back again to the mowing before Sergey

Ivanovitch had had time to dress and come down to the

dining room.




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