'Not bad,' he said, pulling the quivering oysters out of their pearly shells with a silver fork, and swallowing one after another. 'Not bad,' he repeated, lifting his moist and glittering eyes now to Levin, now to the Tartar.
— Non sono cattive — diceva, strappando con la forchetta d’argento le ostriche in guazzo dal guscio di madreperla e inghiottendone una dietro l’altra.