“The Shchapovalovsky gathering is worried... Heated screams filling the stuffy prefabricated hut are growing and merging into a persistent rumble. Even the bearded old men, who have always been silent, are now pressed tightly against the table, squeezing forward with their shoulders and elbows and with annoyance, putting all their guts into every word, shouting: “There’s no need to single it out!.. What does he need the land for?.. It’s all the same - to plow.” he won’t do it himself, but will sell Igoshina!..”