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Updated: June 4, 2025
At least Mrs. Haldin asked me as she climbed up, and her Natalka smiled down at the dense westerner indulgently from the rear platform of the moving car. The light of the clear wintry forenoon was softened in her grey eyes. Mr. Razumov's record, like the open book of fate, revives for me the memory of that day as something startlingly pitiless in its freedom from all forebodings.
I go alone, but meet me here as soon as possible." Then to me in a lower, significant tone "Mother may be sitting at the window at this moment, looking down the street. She must not know anything of Mr. Razumov's presence here till till something is arranged." She paused before she added a little louder, but still speaking to me, "Mr.
Razumov's intervention should not become public. He is a young man of promise of remarkable aptitudes." "I haven't a doubt of it," murmured the General. "He inspires confidence." "All sorts of pernicious views are so widespread nowadays they taint such unexpected quarters that, monstrous as it seems, he might suffer ...his studies...his..."
It was perfectly right that she should think of me, but what could I do in my ignorance of Mr. Razumov's quarters. "And to think he may be living near by, within a stone's-throw, perhaps!" she exclaimed. I doubted it; but I would have gone off cheerfully to fetch him from the other end of Geneva. I suppose she was certain of my readiness, since her first thought was to come to me.
I was resigned. I thought 'God's will be done." He threw himself full length on Razumov's bed and putting the backs of his hands over his eyes remained perfectly motionless and silent. Not even the sound of his breathing could be heard. The dead stillness or the room remained undisturbed till in the darkness Razumov said gloomily "Haldin."
Razumov's attention had wandered away on a track of its own outside the bars of the gate but not out of earshot. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Rot or burn! Powerfully stated. Painted or unpainted. Very vigorous. Painted or...Do tell me she would be infernally jealous of him, wouldn't she?" "Who? What? The Baroness? Eleanor Maximovna? Jealous of Peter Ivanovitch? Heavens!
Its slightly undulating rush seemed capable of scouring out a channel for itself through solid granite while you looked. But had it flowed through Razumov's breast, it could not have washed away the accumulated bitterness the wrecking of his life had deposited there.
Razumov's new-found relation never shed a tear, but the officials had some difficulty in inducing her to go away. The porter observed her lingering on the opposite pavement for a long time. Suddenly, as though she had remembered something, she ran off.
Who do you take me for?" They looked at each other very closely. Razumov's temper was cooled by the impenetrable earnestness of the blue glasses meeting his stare. Peter Ivanovitch turned the handle at last. "You shall know directly," he said, pushing the door open. A low-pitched grating voice was heard within the room. "Enfin."
It is unthinkable that any young Englishman should find himself in Razumov's situation. This being so it would be a vain enterprise to imagine what he would think. The only safe surmise to make is that he would not think as Mr. Razumov thought at this crisis of his fate.
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