It positively sometimes strikes me as extraordinary the way people manage to talk, and so simply and freely.... It's marvellous, really, when you think of it. Though, to tell the truth, I too, in spite of my padlock, sometimes have an itch to talk. But I did actually utter words only in my youth; in riper years I almost always pulled myself up. I would murmur to myself: 'Come, we'd better hold our tongue.' And I was still. We are all good hands at being silent; our women especially are great in that line. Many an exalted Russian young lady keeps silent so strenuously that the spectacle is calculated to produce a faint shudder and cold sweat even in any one prepared to face it. But that's not the point, and it's not for me to criticise others. I proceed to my promised narrative. A few years back, owing to a combination of circumstances, very insignificant in themselves, but very important for me, it was my lot to spend six months in the district town O----. This town is all built on a slope, and very uncomfortably built, too. There are reckoned to be about eight hundred inhabitants in it, of exceptional poverty; the houses are hardly worthy of the name; in the chief street, by way of an apology for a pavement, there are here and there some huge white slabs of rough-hewn limestone, in consequence of which even carts drive round it instead of through it. In the very middle of an astoundingly dirty square rises a diminutive yellowish edifice with black holes in it, and in these holes sit men in big caps making a pretence of buying and selling. In this place there is an extraordinarily high striped post sticking up into the air, and near the post, in the interests of public order, by command of the authorities, there is kept a cartload of yellow hay, and one government hen struts to and fro. In short, existence in the town of O---- is truly delightful. During the first days of my stay in this town, I almost went out of my mind with boredom. I ought to say of myself that, though I am, no doubt, a superfluous man, I am not so of my own seeking; I'm morbid myself, but I can't bear anything morbid.... I'm not even averse to happiness-- indeed, I've tried to approach it right and left.... And so it is no wonder that I too can be bored like any other mortal. I was staying in the town of O---- on official business. Terentyevna has certainly sworn to make an end of me. Here's a specimen of our conversation:-- TERENTYEVNA. Oh--oh, my good sir! what are you for ever writing for? it's bad for you, keeping all on writing. I. But I'm dull, Terentyevna. SHE. Oh, you take a cup of tea now and lie down. By God's mercy you'll get in a sweat and maybe doze a bit. I. But I'm not sleepy. SHE. Ah, sir! why do you talk so? Lord have mercy on you! Come, lie down, lie down; it's better for you. I. I shall die any way, Terentyevna! SHE. Lord bless us and save us!... Well, do you want a little tea? I. I shan't live through the week, Terentyevna!