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RUDIN and he smiled—a thing which rarely happened with him. When he smiled his face assumed a strange, almost aged appearance, his eyes disappeared, his nose was wrinkled up.

‘And who is this queer creature, as you call him, to whom Madame Lipin is not indifferent?’ he asked.

‘A certain Lezhnyov, Mihailo Mihailitch, a landowner here.’

Rudin seemed astonished; he raised his head.

‘Lezhnyov—Mihailo Mihailitch?’ he questioned. ‘Is he a neighbour of yours?’

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

Rudin did not speak for a minute.

‘I used to know him long ago. He is a rich man, I suppose?’ he added, pulling the fringe on his chair.

‘Yes, he is rich, though he dresses shockingly, and drives in a racing droshky like a bailiff. I have been anxious to get him to come here; he is spoken of as clever; I have some business with him. You know I manage my property myself.’

Rudin bowed assent.

‘Yes; I manage it myself,’ Darya Mihailovna 74