'But there's not the least need for them to understand our conversation,' observed Bazarov.
'Whom do you mean?' put in Evdoksya.
'Pretty women.'
'What? Do you adopt Proudhon's ideas, then?'
Bazarov drew himself up haughtily. 'I don't adopt any one's ideas; I have my own.'
'Damn all authorities!' shouted Sitnikov, delighted to have a chance of expressing himself boldly before the man he slavishly admired.
'But even Macaulay,' Madame Kukshin was beginning ...
'Damn Macaulay,' thundered Sitnikov. 'Are you going to stand up for the silly hussies?'
'For silly hussies, no, but for the rights of women, which I have sworn to defend to the last drop of my blood.'
'Damn!'—but here Sitnikov stopped. 'But I don't deny them,' he said.
'No, I see you're a Slavophil.'
'No, I'm not a Slavophil, though, of course ...'
'No, no, no! You are a Slavophil. You're an advocate of patriarchal despotism. You want to have the whip in your hand!'
'A whip's an excellent thing,' remarked Bazarov; 'but we've got to the last drop.'
'Of what?' interrupted Evdoksya.
