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 "No, it's all the same to me," replied Levin, who could not keep from smiling.

The Tatar disappeared on the trot, with his coat tails flying out behind him. Five minutes later he came with a platter of oysters opened and on the shell, and with a bottle in his hand. Stepan Arkadyevitch crumpled up his well-starched napkin, tucked it into his waistcoat, calmly stretched out his hands, and began to attack the oysters.

"Not bad at all," he said, as he lifted the succulent oysters from their shells with a silver fork, and swallowed them one by one. "Not at all bad," he repeated, looking from Levin to the Tatar, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Levin also ate his oysters, although he would have preferred white bread and cheese; but he could not help admiring Oblonsky. Even the Tatar, after uncorking the bottle and pouring the sparkling wine into wide, delicate glass cups, looked at Stepan Arkadyevitch with a noticeable smile of satisfaction while he adjusted his white necktie.

"You are not very fond of oysters, are you?" asked Stepan Arkadyevitch, draining his glass. "Or you are preoccupied? Hey?"

He wanted Levin to be in good spirits, but Levin was anxious, if he was not downcast. His heart being so full, he found himself out of his element in this restaurant, amid the confusion of guests coming and going, surrounded by the private rooms where men and women were dining together; everything was repugnant to his feelings,—the whole outfit of bronzes and mirrors, the gas and the Tatars. He feared that the sentiment that occupied his soul would be defiled.

"I? Yes, I am a little absent-minded; but besides, everything here confuses me. You can't imagine," he said, "how strange all these surroundings seem to a countryman like myself. It 's like the finger-nails of that gentleman whom I met at your office." ....

"Yes, I noticed that poor Grinevitch's finger-nails interested you greatly," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, laughing.