Anton Chekhov

“ Fedya wails and sobs more loudly than ever. Zhilin turns with dignity to the door and departs to his bedroom.
When he wakes from his after-dinner nap he begins to feel the stings of conscience. He is ashamed to face his wife, his son, Anfissa Ivanovna, and even feels very wretched when he recalls the scene at dinner, but his amour-propre is too much for him; he has not the manliness to be frank, and he goes on sulking and grumbling. ”

“ Fedya wails aloud and begins to sob.
"This is insufferable," says his mother, getting up from the table and flinging down her dinner-napkin. "You never let us have dinner in peace! Your bread sticks in my throat."
And putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walks out of the dining-room.
"Now she is offended," grumbles Zhilin, with a forced smile. "She's been spoilt. . . . That's how it is, Anfissa Ivanovna; no one likes to hear the truth nowadays. ”

“ Go and stand in the corner, you beast!"
"But . . . let him have his dinner first," his wife intervenes.
"No dinner for him! Such bla . . . such rascals don't deserve dinner!"
Fedya, wincing and quivering all over, creeps down from his chair and goes into the corner.
"You won't get off with that!" his parent persists. "If nobody else cares to look after your bringing up, so be it; I must begin. . . . I won't let you be naughty and cry at dinner, my lad! Idiot! You must do your duty! Do you understand? Do your duty! Your father works and you must work, too! No one must eat the bread of idleness! ”