Мертвые души

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           Presentlythebritchkaturnedintosomelessfrequentedstreets,linesofwoodenfencingofthekindwhichmarktheoutskirtsofatownbegantofileby,thecobblestonescametoanend,themacadamofthehighroadsucceededtothem,andoncemoretherebeganoneithersideoftheturnpikeaprocessionofverststones,roadmenders,andgreyvillages;innswithsamovarsandpeasantwomenandlandlordswhocamerunningoutofyardswithseivefulsofoats;pedestriansinwornshoeswhich,itmightbe,hadcoveredeighthundredversts;littletowns,brightwithboothsforthesaleofflourinbarrels,boots,smallloaves,andothertrifles;heapsofslag;muchrepairedbridges;expansesoffieldtorightandtoleft;stoutlandowners;amountedsoldierbearingagreen,iron-clampedboxinscribed:“The—thBatteryofArtillery”;longstripsoffreshly-tilledearthwhichgleamedgreen,yellow,andblackonthefaceofthecountryside.Withitmingledlong-drawnsinging,glimpsesofelm-topsamidmist,thefar-offnotesofbells,endlesscloudsofrocks,andtheillimitablelineofthehorizon.