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"But in view of the duel, I think it necessary to inform you, Laevsky found his madam last night at Muridov's with . . . another gentleman." "How disgusting!" muttered the zoologist; he turned pale, frowned, and spat loudly. "Tfoo!"
"What a bore this is!" said Laevsky. "One minute, one minute . . . it's near." Near the old rampart they went down a narrow alley between two empty enclosures, then they came into a sort of large yard and went towards a small house. "That's Muridov's, isn't it?" asked Laevsky. "Yes." "But why we've come by the back yards I don't understand. We might have come by the street; it's nearer. . . ."
Lies, lies, lies. . . . He vividly remembered what he had seen that evening at Muridov's, and he was in an insufferable anguish of loathing and misery. Kirilin and Atchmianov were loathsome, but they were only continuing what he had begun; they were his accomplices and his disciples.
He sat down on the bench near the gate and took off his hat, feeling that his head was burning with jealousy and resentment. The clock in the town church only struck twice in the twenty-four hours at midday and midnight. Soon after it struck midnight he heard hurried footsteps. "To-morrow evening, then, again at Muridov's," Atchmianov heard, and he recognised Kirilin's voice.
Nadyezhda Fyodorovna listened to the even splash of the sea, looked at the sky studded with stars, and longed to make haste and end it all, and get away from the cursed sensation of life, with its sea, stars, men, fever. "Only not in my home," she said coldly. "Take me somewhere else." "Come to Muridov's. That's better." "Where's that?" "Near the old wall."
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