Page:The Novels of Ivan Turgenev (volume XI).djvu/235

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THE TORRENTS OF SPRING

'I like it!' Sanin echoed back ecstatically. And his blood was on fire.

'This isn't all, wait a bit' She held out her hand. Her glove was torn across.

'I told you I would lead you to the forest, to the mountains.. . . Here they are, the mountains!' The mountains, covered with tall forest, rose about two hundred feet from the place they had reached in their wild ride. 'Look, here is the road; let us turn into it—and forwards. Only at a walk. We must let our horses get their breath.'

They rode on. With one vigorous sweep of her arm Maria Nikolaevna flung back her hair. Then she looked at her gloves and took them off. 'My hands will smell of leather,' she said, 'you won't mind that, eh?' . . . Maria Nikolaevna smiled, and Sanin smiled too. Their mad gallop together seemed to have finally brought them together and made them friends.

'How old are you? ' she asked suddenly.

'Twenty-two.'

'Really? I 'm twenty-two too. A nice age. Add both together and you're still far off old age. It's hot, though. Am I very red, eh?'

'Like a poppy!'

Maria Nikolaevna rubbed her face with her handkerchief. 'We've only to get to the forest and there it will be cool. Such an

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