After dinner I go up to my study and light my little pipe, the only one during the whole day, the sole survivor of my old habit of smoking from morning to night. My wife comes into me while I am smoking and sits down to speak to me. Just as in the morning, I know beforehand what the conversation will be.
"We ought to talk seriously, Nicolai Stiepanovich," she begins. "I mean about Liza. Why won't you attend?"
"Attend to what?"
"You pretend you don't notice anything. It's not right: It's not right to be unconcerned. Gnekker has intentions about Liza. What do you say to that?"
"I can't say he's a bad man, because I don't know him; but I've told you a thousand times already that I don't like him."
"But that's impossible ... impossible...." She rises and walks about in agitation.
"It's i
