Swinging his scythe just as ever, and moving his feet in their big, plaited shoes with firm, little steps, he climbed slowly up the steep place, and though his breeches hanging out below his smock, and his whole frame trembled with effort, he did not miss one blade of grass or one mushroom on his way, and kept making jokes with the peasants and Levin.

Levin walked after him and often thought he must fall, as he climbed with a scythe up a steep cliff where it would have been hard work to clamber without anything.

But he climbed up and did what he had to do.

He felt as though some external force were moving him.

Mashkin Upland was mown, the last row finished, the peasants had put on their coats and were gaily trudging home.