"Well, I expect you'll end up by building a summer resort too," I tell him
in the course of our conversation.
"Oh, no; we couldn't venture on anything like that," he replies cunningly.
In his heart I daresay he has no desire to, for he has seen what it leads
to.
I didn't like him; his eyes were fawning and rested on the ground. He
thought of nothing but land; he was land-greedy, like an animal that
sought to escape its padlock. The other cotter had bought a slightly
larger piece of land than he, a marsh that would feed one cow more; but he
himself had only got this bit of a field. Still, this would amount to
something, too, as long as he kept his health to work it.
He gripped his spade again.