We stopped in the thicket beyond the threshing-floor
at the very end of the village. Sämka picked up a dry
stick from the snow and began striking it against the
frosty trunk of a lime tree. Hoar frost fell from the
branches onto our caps, and the noise of the blows
resounded in the stillness of the wood.

' Lëv Nikoláevich,' said Fédka to me . . . 'why does
one learn singing? I often think, why, really, does
one?'

What made him jump from the terror of the murder
to this question, heaven only knows; yet by the tone
of his voice, the seriousness with which he demanded
an answer, and the attentive silence of the other two,
one felt that there was some vital and legitimate con-
nection between this question and our preceding talk.

TOLSTOY
(trans. Aylmer Maude)