A Night Conversation by Ivan Bunin

Theodot's tone had become so simple, so sincere, so filled with the tones of husbandry aggrieved, that it would never have entered anybody's head that here was a murderer, confessing his sin. Then, too, he was listened to in a spirit of simplicity. Kiriushka was lying flat on his belly, his head covered with his great coat; his feet, in big bast sandals and thickly wrapped in foot cloths, were sticking out. Ivan, with his cap shoved down over his forehead, his hands tucked into his sleeves, was lying on his side, also without moving; as for his stern and serious silence, he maintained it because he deemed it beneath his dignity to be interested in fools. He was so little concerned whether those before him were murderers or not, that he had even called out once:

"Time to sleep! Finish that gabbing tomorrow!"