The grave, tall poplars
looked as if they were praying, and like shadows the dark forms of
monks moved hither and thither. At the church-porch lamps glimmered,
and in the air there was a faint odour either of incense or of faded
poplar-leaves.
"Hullo, Svarogitsch!" shouted some one behind him.
Yourii turned round, and saw Schafroff, Sanine, Ivanoff and Peter
Ilitch, who came across the court-yard, talking loudly and merrily. The
monks glanced apprehensively in their direction and even the poplars
seemed to lose something of their devotional calm.
"We've all come here, too," said Schafroff, approaching Yourii whom he
revered.
"So I see," muttered Yourii irritably.
"You'll join our party, won't you?" asked Schafroff as he came nearer.
"No, thank you, I am engaged," said Yourii, with some impatience.
"Oh! that's all right! You'll come along with us, I know," exclaimed
Ivanoff, as he good-humouredly caught hold of his arm. Yourii
endeavoured to free himself, and for a while a droll struggle took
place.
"No, no, damn it all, I can't!" cried Yourii, almost angry now.
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