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but the cocks crowing irritably at one another in the village, producing in every one who heard them a strange sense of drowsiness and ennui; and somewhere, high up in a tree-top, the incessant plaintive cheep of a young hawk. Arkady and Bazarov lay in the shade of a small haystack, putting under themselves two armfuls of dry and rustling, but still greenish and fragrant grass. 'That aspen-tree,' began Bazarov, 'reminds me of my childhood; it grows at the edge of the clay-pits where the bricks were dug, and in those days I believed firmly that that clay-pit and aspen-tree possessed a peculiar talismanic power; I never felt dull near them. I did not understand then that I was not dull, because I was a child. Well, now I'm grown up, the talisman's lost its power.' 'How long did you live here altogether?' asked Arkady. 'Two years on end; then we travelled about. We led a roving life, wandering from town to town for the most part.' 'And has this house been standing long?' 'Yes. My grandfather built it--my mother's father.' 'Who was he--your grandfather?' 'Devil knows. Some second-major. He served with Suvorov, and was always telling stories about the crossing of the Alps--inventions probably.' 'You have a portrait of Suvorov hanging in the drawing-room. I like these dear little houses like yours; they're so warm and old-fashioned; and there's always a special sort of scent about them.' 'A smell of lamp-oil and clover,' Bazarov remarked, yawning. 'And the flies in those dear little houses.... Faugh!' 'Tell me,' began Arkady, after a brief pause, 'were they strict with you when you were a child?' 'You can see what my parents are like. They're not a severe sort.' 'Are you fond of them, Yevgeny?' 'I am, Arkady.' 'How fond they are of you!' Bazarov was silent for a little. 'Do you know what I'm thinking about?' he brought out at last, clasping his hands behind his head. 'No. What is it?' 'I'm thinking life is a happy thing for my parents. My father at sixty is fussing around, talking about "palliative" measures, doctoring people, playing the bountiful master with the peasants--having a festive time, in fact; and my mother's happy too; her day's so chockful of duties of all sorts, and sighs and groans that she's no time even to think of herself; while I ...' 'While you?' 'I think; here I lie under a haystack.... The tiny space I occupy is so infinitely small in comparison with the rest
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