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But three months had passed and he had not left off minding about

it; and it was as painful for him to think of it as it had been

those first days. He could not be at peace because after dreaming

so long of family life, and feeling himself so ripe for it, he

was still not married, and was further than ever from marriage.

He was painfully conscious himself, as were all about him, that

at his years it is not well for man to be alone. He remembered

how before starting for Moscow he had once said to his cowman

Nikolay, a simple-hearted peasant, whom he liked talking to:

"Well, Nikolay! I mean to get married," and how Nikolay had

promptly answered, as of a matter on which there could be no

possible doubt: "And high time too, Konstantin Dmitrievitch." But

marriage had now become further off than ever. The place was

taken, and whenever he tried to imagine any of the girls he knew

in that place, he felt that it was utterly impossible.