Fathers and SonsTranslated by Charles James Hogarth
"Well, Peter? Cannot you see them yet?" asked a barin of about forty who, hatless, and clad in a dusty jacket over a pair of tweed breeches, stepped on to the verandah of a posting-house on the 20th day of May, 1859. The person addressed was the barin's servant—a round-cheeked young fellow with small, dull eyes and a chin adorned with a tuft of pale-coloured down.
Glancing along the high road in a supercilious manner, the servant (in whom everything, from the turquoise ear-ring to the dyed, pomaded hair and the mincing gait, revealed the modern, the rising generation) replied: "No, barin, I cannot."