On that same evening Sanine went to see Soloveitchik. The little Jew
was sitting alone on the steps of his house, gazing at the bare,
deserted space in front of it where several disused pathways crossed
the withered grass. Depressing indeed was the sight of the vacant
sheds, with their huge, rusty locks, and of the black windows of the
mill. The whole scene spoke mournfully of life and activity that long
had ceased.

Sanine instantly noticed the changed expression of Soloveitchik's face.
He no longer smiled, but seemed anxious and worried. His dark eyes had
a questioning look.

"Ah! good evening," he said, as in apathetic fashion he took the
other's hand. Then he continued gazing at the calm evening sky, against
which the black roofs of the sheds stood out in ever sharper relief.

Sanine sat down on the opposite side of the steps, lighted a cigarette,
and silently watched Soloveitchik, whose strange demeanour interested
him.

"What do you do with yourself here?" he asked, after a while.

Languidly the other turned to him his large, sad eyes.

"I just live here, that's all. When the mill was at work, I used to be
in the office. But now it's closed, and everybody's gone away except
myself."

"Don't you find it lonely, to be all by yourself, like this?"

Soloveitchik was silent.

Then, shrugging his shoulders, he said: "It's all the same to me."