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and Levin. Levin walked after him and often thought he must fall, as
he climbed with a scythe up a steep cliff where it would have been
hard work to clamber without anything. But he climbed up and did
what he had to do. He felt as though some external force were moving
him.
Chapter 6.
Mashkin Upland was mown, the last row finished, the peasants
had put on their coats and were gaily trudging home. Levin got on his
horse and, parting regretfully from the peasants, rode homewards. On
the hillside he looked back; he could not see them in the mist that had
risen from the valley; he could only hear rough, good-humored voices,
laughter, and the sound of clanking scythes.
Sergey Ivanovitch had long ago finished dinner, and was drinking
iced lemon and water in his own room, looking through the reviews and
papers which he had only just received by post, when Levin rushed
into the room, talking merrily, with his wet and matted hair sticking to
his forehead, and his back and chest grimed and moist.
“We mowed the whole meadow! Oh, it is nice, delicious! And how
have you been getting on?” said Levin, completely forgetting the dis-
agreeable conversation of the previous day.
“Mercy! what do you look like!” said Sergey Ivanovitch, for the first
moment looking round with some dissatisfaction. “And the door, do
shut the door!” he cried. “You must have let in a dozen at least.”
Sergey Ivanovitch could not endure flies, and in his own room he
never opened the window except at night, and carefully kept the door
shut.
“Not one, on my honor. But if I have, I’ll catch them. You wouldn’t