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Anna Karenina 453


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are they all so busy for, trying to show their zeal before me? What is that old Matrona, my old friend, toiling for? (I doctored her, when the beam fell on her in the fire)" he thought, looking at a thin old woman who was raking up the grain, moving painfully with her bare, sun-blackened feet over the uneven, rough floor. "Then she recovered, but today or tomorrow or in ten years she wont; theyll bury her, and nothing will be left either of her or of that smart girl in the red jacket, who with that skillful, soft action shakes the ears out of their husks. Theyll bury her and this piebald horse, and very soon too," he thought, gazing at the heavily moving, panting horse that kept walking up the wheel that turned under him. "And they will bury her and Fyodor the thrasher with his curly beard full of chaff and his shirt torn on his white shoulders--they will bury him. Hes untying the sheaves, and giving orders, and shouting to the women, and quickly setting straight the strap on the moving wheel. And whats more, its not them alone--me theyll bury too, and nothing will be left. What for?" He thought this, and at the same time looked at his watch to reckon how much they thrashed in an hour. He wanted to know this so as to judge by it the task to set for the day. "Itll soon be one, and theyre only beginning the third sheaf," thought Levin. He went up to the man that was feeding the machine, and shouting over the roar of the machine he told him to put it in more slowly. "You put in too much at a time, Fyodor. Do you see--it gets choked, thats why it isnt getting on. Do it evenly." Fyodor, black with the dust that clung to his moist face, shouted something in response, but still went on doing it as Levin did not want him to. Levin, going up to the machine, moved Fyodor aside, and began feeding the corn in himself. Working on till the peasants dinner hour, which was not long in coming, he went out of the barn with Fyodor and fell into talk with him, stopping beside a neat yellow sheaf of rye laid on the thrashing floor for seed. Fyodor came from a village at some distance from the one in which Levin had once allotted land to his cooperative association. Now it had been let to a former house porter. Levin talked to Fyodor about this land and asked whether Platon, a well-to-do peasant of good character belonging to the same village, would not take the land for the coming year. "Its a high rent; it wouldnt pay Platon, Konstantin Dmitrievitch," answered the peasant, picking the ears off his sweat-drenched shirt. "But how does Kirillov make it pay?" "Mituh!" (so the peasant called the house porter, in a tone of contempt), "you may be sure hell make it pay, Konstantin Dmitrievitch! Hell get his share, however he has to squeeze to get it! Hes no mercy on a Christian. But Uncle Fokanitch" (so he called the old peasant Platon), "do you suppose hed flay the skin off a man? Where theres debt, hell let anyone off. And hell not wring the last penny out. Hes a man too." "But why will he let anyone off?" "Oh, well, of course, folks are different. One man lives for his own wants and nothing else, like Mituh, he only thinks of filling his belly, but Fokanitch is a righteous man. He lives for his soul. He does not forget God." "How thinks of God? How does he live for his soul?" Levin almost shouted. "Why, to be sure, in truth, in Gods way. Folks are different. Take you now, you wouldnt wrong a man...." "Yes, yes, good-bye!" said Levin, breathless with excitement, and turning round he took his stick and walked quickly away towards home. At the peasants words that Fokanitch lived for his soul, in truth, in Gods way, undefined but significant ideas seemed to burst out as though they had been locked up, and all striving towards one goal, they thronged whirling through his head, blinding him with their light. Chapter 12 Levin strode along the highroad, absorbed not so much in his thoughts (he could not yet disentangle them) as in his spiritual condition, unlike anything he had experienced before. The words

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