Book 2 Chapter 10 Nekhludoff Returns to Town

Such seemed the bootmakers Nekhludoff saw in the cellar, the
pale, dishevelled washerwomen with their thin, bare, arms ironing
at an open window, out of which streamed soapy steam; such the
two house-painters with their aprons, stockingless feet, all
bespattered and smeared with paint, whom Nekhludoff met--their
weak, brown arms bared to above the elbows--carrying a pailful of
paint, and quarrelling with each other. Their faces looked
haggard and cross. The dark faces of the carters jolting along in
their carts bore the same expression, and so did the faces of the
tattered men and women who stood begging at the street corners.
The same kind of faces were to be seen at the open, windows of
the eating-houses which Nekhludoff passed. By the dirty tables on
which stood tea things and bottles, and between which waiters
dressed in white shirts were rushing hither and thither, sat
shouting and singing red, perspiring men with stupefied faces.
One sat by the window with lifted brows and pouting lips and
fixed eyes as if trying to remember something.

"And why are they all gathered here?" Nekhludoff thought,
breathing in together with the dust which the cold wind blew
towards him the air filled with the smell of rank oil and fresh
paint.

In one street he met a row of carts loaded with something made of
iron, that rattled so on the uneven pavement that it made his
ears and head ache. He started walking still faster in order to
pass the row of carts, when he heard himself called by name. He
stopped and saw an officer with sharp pointed moustaches and
shining face who sat in the trap of a swell isvostchik and waved
his hand in a friendly manner, his smile disclosing unusually
long, white teeth.