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Updated: June 11, 2025
And from the sofa, her hands lying on her lap, she watched us enter, with her black, glittering eyes. Miss Haldin advanced into the middle of the room; I, faithful to my part of mere attendant, remained by the door after closing it behind me. Peter Ivanovitch was not to be seen, neither was Mr. Razumov present.
And suddenly he was inspired to add, "The snow was coming down very thick, you know." She had a slight appreciative movement of the head, like an expert in such enterprises, very interested, capable of taking every point professionally. Razumov remembered something he had heard.
For a moment he sat in the straw with closed eyes with a strange air of weary meditation, then fell over slowly on his side without making the slightest sound. Only the straw rustled a little. Razumov stared wildly, fighting for his breath. After a second or two he heard a light snore.
He looked again at his watch and noticed with sickening disgust that there were yet a good many minutes to midnight. He tore watch and chain off his waistcoat and laid them on the table well in the circle of bright lamplight. Haldin, reclining on his elbow, did not stir. Razumov was made uneasy by this attitude. "What move is he meditating over so quietly?" he thought. "He must be prevented.
My spirit shall go on warring in some Russian body till all falsehood is swept out of the world. The modern civilization is false, but a new revelation shall come out of Russia. Ha! you say nothing. You are a sceptic. I respect your philosophical scepticism, Razumov, but don't touch the soul. The Russian soul that lives in all of us. It has a future.
In regard of that task nothing else matters if men and women are determined and faithful. That's how I came to feel in the end. The great thing is not to quarrel amongst ourselves about all sorts of conventional trifles. Remember that, Razumov." Razumov was not listening. He had even lost the sense of being watched in a sort of heavy tranquillity.
A languid silence, as if all the electricity of the situation had been discharged in this flash of passion, lasted for some time. Razumov had not flinched. Suddenly she laid the tips of her fingers on his sleeve. "Don't mind." "I don't mind," he said very quietly. He was proud to feel that she could read nothing on his face.
Razumov, overpowered, breathless, crushed under the weight of his assailants, saw the monstrous Nikita squatting on his heels near his head, while the others held him down, kneeling on his chest, gripping his throat, lying across his legs. "Turn his face the other way," the paunchy terrorist directed, in an excited, gleeful squeak. Razumov could struggle no longer.
But Razumov knew that this, his first communication for Councillor Mikulin, would find its way to the Embassy there, be copied in cypher by somebody trustworthy, and sent on to its destination, all safe, along with the diplomatic correspondence.
She greeted him with a manly hand-grasp. "What! Are you going away?" she exclaimed. "How is that, Razumov?" "I am going away because I haven't been asked to stay," Razumov answered, returning the pressure of her hand with much less force than she had put into it. She jerked her head sideways like one who understands. Meantime Razumov's eyes had strayed after the two men.
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