ssure and the silence.
He had not slept all the previous night, and had not smoked, and had
eaten scarcely anything for several days. His profile, already thinner,
stood out darkly and sharply under his cap, which was pulled down to
his eyebrows.

'Well, brother,' he said at last, 'give us a cigarette. But look, I
say, is my tongue yellow?'

'Yes, it is,' answered Arkady.

'Hm ... and the cigarette's tasteless. The machine's out of gear.'

'You look changed lately certainly,' observed Arkady.

'It's nothing! we shall soon be all right. One thing's a bother--my
mother's so tender-hearted; if you don't grow as round as a tub, and
eat ten times a day, she's quite upset. My father's all right, he's
known all sorts of ups and downs himself. No, I can't smoke,' he added,
and he flung the cigarette into the dust of the road.

'Do you think it's twenty miles?' asked Arkady.

'Yes. But ask this sage here.' He indicated the peasant sitting on the
box, a labourer of Fedot's.

But the sage only answered, 'Who's to know--miles hereabout aren't
measured,' and went on swearing in an undertone at the shaft horse for
'kicking with her head-piece,' that is, shaking with her head down.

'Yes, yes,' began Bazarov; 'it's a lesson to you, my young friend, an
instructive example. God knows, what rot it is? Every man hangs on a
thread, the abyss may open under his feet any minute, and yet he must
go and invent all sorts of discomforts for himself, and spoil his
life.'

'What are you alluding to?' asked Arkady.

'I'm not alluding to anything; I'm saying straight out that we've both
behaved like fools. What's the use of talking about it! Still, I've
noticed in hospital practice, the man who's furious at his
illness--he's sure to get over it.'

'I don't quite understand you,' observed Arkady; 'I should have thought
you had nothing to complain of.'

'And since you don't quite understand me, I'll tell you this--to my
mind, it's better to break stones on the highroad than to let a woman
have the mastery of even the end of one's little finger. That's all
...' Bazarov was on the point of uttering his favourite word,
'romanticism,' but he checked himself, and said, 'rubbish. You don't
believe me now, but I tell you; you and I have been in feminine
society, and very nice we found it; but to throw up society like that
is for all the world like a dip in cold water on a hot day. A man
hasn't time to attend to such trifles; a man ought not