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"Can you tell me, sir," he said, with exceedingly strained politeness of manner, "where the women are kept, and where one is allowed to interview them?" "Is it the women's ward you want to go to?" "Yes, I should like to see one of the women prisoners," Nekhludoff said, with the same strained politeness. "You should have said so when you were in the hall. Who is it, then, that you want to see?"
When Nekhludoff, talking to this man, who gave his name as Medyntzev, reached the entrance-hall, the inspector, with weary countenance, approached him. "So, if you wish to see Maslova, then please call to-morrow," he said, evidently desiring to be pleasant. "Very well," said Nekhludoff, and hastened away.
This happened with Nekhludoff. Yes, notwithstanding the prison garb, the bloated body and the high breast; notwithstanding the distended lower part of the face, the wrinkles on the forehead and the temples, and the swelling under the eyes, it was undoubtedly that same Katiousha who on Easter Sunday looked up to him, her beloved, with her enamored, smiling, happy, lively eyes.
"Loving or not loving, what does it matter? I have given up all that. And then Valdemar Simonson is quite an exceptional man." "Yes, of course," Nekhludoff began. "He is a splendid man, and I think " But she again interrupted him, as if afraid that he might say too much or that she should not say all.
As Nekhludoff sat down he looked at the narrow, bald skull, at the fat, blue-veined hand that was swiftly guiding the pen, and wondered why this evidently indifferent man was doing what he did and why he was doing it with such care. "Well, here you are," said Toporoff, sealing the envelope; "you may let your clients know," and he stretched his lips to imitate a smile.
He wished to confess also before Kornei, but the latter was so impressively respectful that he could not make up his mind to do it. On his way to the court, passing along the familiar streets and in the same carriage, Nekhludoff was himself surprised what a different man he felt himself to-day.
When Corney had gone away with the supper things, Nekhludoff moved to the tea urn and was about to make himself some tea, but hearing Agraphena Petrovna's footsteps, he went hurriedly into the drawing-room, to avoid being seen by her, and shut the door after him. In this drawing-room his mother had died three months before.
"He will act according to his conscience in any case," said Nekhludoff, recalling the intimate relations and friendship between himself and Selenin, and the attractive qualities of the latter purity, honesty, and good breeding in its best sense. "Yes, there is no time now," whispered Fanarin, who was listening to the report of the case that had commenced.
She had lived in the house of the Nekhludoffs since childhood, and knew Dmitri Ivanovitch when he was called by the diminutive Mitenka. "Good-morning, Dmitri Ivanovitch." "How do you do, Agrippina Petrovna? What's the news?" asked Nekhludoff, jesting. "A letter from the old Princess, or the young one, perhaps.
The warden approached them. "Don't you make so much noise! You know whom " "Please desist," said Nekhludoff. "She must not forget herself," said the warden. "Please wait a while," said Nekhludoff. The warden returned to his seat on the window-sill. Maslova again seated herself, her eyes downcast and her little hands clutching each other. Nekhludoff stood over her, not knowing what to do.
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