High words follow. . . . The sun is baking hot. The shad-ows begin to grow shorter and to draw in on
themselves, like the horns of a snail. . . . The high grass warmed by the sun begins to give out a
strong, heavy smell of honey. It will soon be midday, and Gerassim and Lubim are still floundering
under the willow tree. The husky bass and the shrill, frozen tenor persistently disturb the stillness of
the summer day.