Koznyshev had long had his dinner, and was in his room drinking iced water with lemon, while looking over the papers and magazines just arrived by post, when Levin rushed in, his tangled hair clinging to his moist brow, his shirt saturated back and front and dark with perspiration, and cried out joyfully:
Sergej Ivanovic da tempo aveva finito di pranzare e stava sorbendo acqua e limone e ghiaccio in camera sua, guardando le riviste e i giornali ricevuti proprio allora con la posta, quando Levin, coi capelli arruffati e appiccicati, la schiena e il petto anneriti e bagnati dal sudore, irruppe in camera con un allegro vociare.