Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev,
Virgin Soil
“ Paklin took a cigar gratefully and lighted it with care. “Here’s a good opportunity,” he thought, but Sipiagin had anticipated him. “I remember your saying ...” he began carelessly, stopping to look at his cigar and pulling his hat lower over his forehead, “you spoke ... of ... of that friend of yours, who married my ... niece. Do you ever see them? They’ve settled not far from here, eh?” (“Take care! be on your guard, Sila!” Paklin thought.) “I have only seen them once, your excellency. They are living ... certainly ... not very far from here.” ”
