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A half-tipsy rhymester with an everlastingly ecstatic smile!" ... "Oh no! Kolosov's not like that." I was on the point of observing that it was for Mr. Kolosov to call on me; but, I don't know why, I obeyed Bobov and went.
Now I understand what was lacking: I felt my loneliness, thirsted for the society of so-called live people; the word Life waked echoes in my heart, and with a vague ache I listened to the sound of it.... Valerian Nikitich, pass me a cigarette. Lighting the cigarette, the small man continued: 'One fine morning Bobov came running to me, out of breath: "Do you know, old man, the great news?
And so I lived at my German's, as the saying is, in clover. I did not attend lectures with too much assiduity, while at home I did positively nothing. In a very short time, I had got to know all my comrades and was on intimate terms with all of them. Among my new friends was one rather decent and good-natured fellow, the son of a town provost on the retired list. His name was Bobov.
He gave his hand to Bobov in a friendly way, and greeted me affably. I looked at Kolosov and at once felt irresistibly drawn to him. Gentlemen! Bobov was right: Kolosov really was a remarkable person. Let me describe a little more in detail.... He was rather tall, slender, graceful, and exceedingly good-looking. His face...I find it very difficult to describe his face.
This Bobov got in the habit of coming to see me, and seemed to like me. I, too ... do you know, I didn't like him, nor dislike him; I was more or less indifferent.... I must tell I hadn't in all Moscow a single relation, except an old uncle, who used sometimes to ask me for money.
Speaking of myself, I used the expression 'your son. Bobov came in to see me. At last the great moment arrived. On going out of my room, I stood still in the doorway. 'With what feelings, thought I, 'shall I cross this threshold again to-day? ... My emotion at the sight of Ivan Semyonitch's little house was so great that I got down, picked up a handful of snow and pressed it to my face.
Bobov conducted me to one of the very dirtiest, crookedest, and narrowest streets in Moscow.... The house in which Kolosov lodged was built in the old-fashioned style, rambling and uncomfortable. We went into the courtyard; a fat peasant woman was hanging out clothes on a line stretched from the house to the fence.... Children were squalling on the wooden staircase...
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