Book 1 Chapter 45 Fanarin The Advocate - The Petition

On the appointed day Nekhludoff drove up to the advocate
Fanarin's own splendid house, which was decorated with huge palms
and other plants, and wonderful curtains, in fact, with all the
expensive luxury witnessing to the possession of much idle money,
i.e., money acquired without labour, which only those possess who
grow rich suddenly. In the waiting-room, just as in a doctor's
waiting-room, he found many dejected-looking people sitting round
several tables, on which lay illustrated papers meant to amuse
them, awaiting their turns to be admitted to the advocate. The
advocate's assistant sat in the room at a high desk, and having
recognised Nekhludoff, he came up to him and said he would go and
announce him at once. But the assistant had not reached the door
before it opened and the sounds of loud, animated voices were
heard; the voice of a middle-aged, sturdy merchant, with a red
face and thick moustaches, and the voice of Fanarin himself.
Fanarin was also a middle-aged man of medium height, with a worn
look on his face. Both faces bore the expression which you see on
the faces of those who have just concluded a profitable but not
quite honest transaction.

"Your own fault, you know, my dear sir," Fanarin said, smiling.

"We'd all be in 'eaven were it not for hour sins."

"Oh. yes, yes; we all know that," and both laughed un-naturally.

"Oh, Prince Nekhludoff! Please to step in," said Fanarin, seeing
him, and, nodding once more to the merchant, he led Nekhludoff
into his business cabinet, furnished in a severely correct style.