mentioned Vassily Nikolaevitch's letter. Nezhdanov handed the letter to Solomin. While he read it, attentively and deliberately, his eyes moving on from line to line, Nezhdanov watched him. Solomin was sitting near the window; the sun, now low in the sky, threw a glaring light on his tanned, slightly perspiring face and his light, dusty hair, showing up a number of golden threads among them. His nostrils quivered as his breath came and went while he read, and his lips moved as though he were forming each word; he held the letter with a strong grip, rather high up with both hands. All this, for some unknown reason, pleased Nezhdanov. Solomin gave the letter back to Nezhdanov, smiled at him, and again began listening to Markelov. The latter talked and talked, but at last he ceased.
'Do you know what', began Solomin, and his voice, rather hoarse, but young and powerful, pleased Nezhdanov too, it's not quite convenient here at my place; let us go to your house, it's not more than five miles to you. I suppose you came in the coach?'
'Yes.'
'Well . . . then there will be room for me. In an hour my work is over and I am at liberty. We will have a talk. Are you at liberty too?─he addressed Nezhdanov.
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