Having served his second term in the prison, Prokofy, who had formerly worked on the Sventizky estate, was no longer the brisk, ambitious, smartly dressed fellow he had been. He seemed, on the contrary, a complete wreck. When sober he would sit idle and would refuse to do any work, however much his father scolded him; moreover, he was continually seeking to get hold of something secretly, and take it to the public-house for a drink. When he came home he would continue to sit idle, coughing and spitting all the time. The doctor on whom he called, examined his chest and shook his head. “You, my man, ought to have many things which you have not got.” “That is usually the case, isn’t it? “Take plenty of milk, and don’t smoke.” “These are days of fasting, and besides we have no cow.” Once in spring he could not get any sleep; he was longing to have a drink. There was nothing in the house he co...