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"Come, that'll do, you can go," said Stepan Arkadyevitch,

blushing suddenly. "Well now, do dress me." He turned to Matvey

and threw off his dressing-gown decisively.

Matvey was already holding up the shirt like a horse's collar,

and, blowing off some invisible speck, he slipped it with obvious

pleasure over the well-groomed body of his master.

Chapter 3

When he was dressed, Stepan Arkadyevitch sprinkled some scent on

himself, pulled down his shirt-cuffs, distributed into his

pockets his cigarettes, pocketbook, matches, and watch with its

double chain and seals, and shaking out his handkerchief, feeling

himself clean, fragrant, healthy, and physically at ease, in

spite of his unhappiness, he walked with a slight swing on each

leg into the dining-room, where coffee was already waiting for

him, and beside the coffee, letters and papers from the office.