...of trust

In the garden of Nikolskoe, in the shade of a tall ash-tree, Katya and Arkady were seated on a turf seat. On the ground beside them lay Fifi, having lent her long body that elegant curve known among sportsmen as 'a hare's lie'. Both Arkady and Katya were silent. He held in his hand a half-opened book while she picked out of a basket some last crumbs of white bread and threw them to a small family of sparrows which, with their characteristic cowardly impudence, jumped about twittering at her feet. A faint breeze, rustling in the leaves of the ash-tree, set in calm to-and-fro motion, both over the dark path and along Fifi's yellow spine, a series of pale golden patches of light. Uninterrupted shade engulfed Arkady and Katya, save that from time to time a bright strand would catch alight in her hair. They were both silent, but it was precisely in the fact of their silence and their sitting together that a trusting closeness reigned. Each seemed not to be thinking about the other, but was secretly delighted by the other's nearness. And their faces had changed since last we saw them, Arkady's seeming calmer and Katya more lively and bolder.

[Father's and Sons, Turgenev, I.]