"
This last phrase Volochine unexpectedly added, believing it to be most
apt and illuminating. The expression of his face was one of stupidity
and greed, as he kept reverting to his pet theme, Woman. Sarudine
alternately flushed and pale with jealousy, found it impossible to
remain in one place, but walked restlessly up and down the path.
"Our women are all alike ... stereotyped and made-up. To find one whose
beauty is worthy of adoration, it is to the provinces that one must go,
where the soil, untilled as yet, produces the most splendid flowers."
Sanine scratched the nape of his neck, and crossed his legs.
"Ah! of what good is it if they bloom here, since there is no one
worthy to pluck them?" replied Lida.
"Aha!" thought Sanine, suddenly becoming interested, "so that's what
she's driving at!"
This word-play, where sentiment and grossness were so obviously
involved, he found extremely diverting.
"Is it possible?"
"Why, of course! I mean what I say, who is it that plucks our
unfortunate blossoms? What men are those whom we set up as heroes?"
rejoined Lida bitterly.
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