the principal point—that is, he began talking of his intention of selling his estate.
Polozov listened to him in silence, his eyes straying from time to time to the door, by which the luncheon was to appear. The luncheon did appear at last. The head-waiter, accompanied by two other attendants, brought in several dishes under silver covers.
'Is the property in the Tula province?' said Polozov, seating himself at the table, and tucking a napkin into his shirt collar.
'Yes.'
'In the Efremovsky district . . . I know it.'
'Do you know my place, Aleksyevka?' Sanin asked, sitting down too at the table.
'Yes, I know it.' Polozov thrust in his mouth a piece of omelette with truffles. 'Maria Nikolaevna, my wife, has an estate in that neighbourhood.. . . Uncork that bottle, waiter! You've a good piece of land, only your peasants have cut down the timber. Why are you selling it?'
'I want the money, my friend. I would sell it cheap. Come, you might as well buy it . . . by the way.'
Polozov gulped down a glass of wine, wiped his lips with the napkin, and again set to work chewing slowly and noisily.
'Oh,' he enunciated at last.. . . 'I don't go
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