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Updated: June 11, 2025
Razumov fancied he could see a smile behind their sadness. "This is Razumov," Sophia Antonovna repeated loudly for the benefit of the fat man, who at some distance displayed the profile of his stomach. No one moved. Everything, sounds, attitudes, movements, and immobility seemed to be part of an experiment, the result of which was a thin voice piping with comic peevishness "Oh yes! Razumov.
"I have written already all I shall ever write," he said at last, with a little laugh. The whole company's attention was riveted on the new-comer, dripping with water, deadly pale, and keeping his position against the wall. Razumov put Laspara gently aside, as though he wished to be seen from head to foot by everybody.
I was satisfied with my faculty for putting two and two together when I drew the inference that the mission had something to do with the person of the great Peter Ivanovitch. But I kept that surmise to myself naturally, and Mr. Razumov said nothing more for some considerable time. It was only when we were nearly on the bridge we had been making for that he opened his lips again, abruptly
In fact, Razumov, trying to push it open a little wider, discovered it was immovable. "Democratic virtue. There are no thieves here, apparently," he muttered to himself, with displeasure. Before advancing into the grounds he looked back sourly at an idle working man lounging on a bench in the clean, broad avenue.
She calmed down, the gleam of suffused tears in her eyes dried out instantly by the heat of her passion, and it was in her capable, businesslike manner that she went on "You understand me, Razumov. You are not an enthusiast, but there is an immense force of revolt in you. I felt it from the first, directly I set my eyes on you you remember in Zurich. Oh! You are full of bitter revolt.
The clerk in uniform who conducted him said in the corridor "You are going before Gregor Matvieitch Mikulin." There was nothing formidable about the man bearing that name. His mild, expectant glance was turned on the door already when Razumov entered. At once, with the penholder he was holding in his hand, he pointed to a deep sofa between two windows.
He was perfectly calm, and, between the crashes, listened attentively to the delicate tinkling of the doorbell somewhere within the house. There was some difficulty before he was admitted. His person was not known to that one of the guests who had volunteered to go downstairs and see what was the matter. Razumov argued with him patiently. There could be no harm in admitting a caller.
"No," interrupted Razumov without haste. "I had made no plans of any sort." "You just simply walked away?" she struck in. He bowed his head in slow assent. "Simply yes." He had gradually released his hold on the bar of the gate, as though he had acquired the conviction that no random shot could knock him over now.
It was as though he had dreamed for an infinitesimal fraction of time of some dark print of the Inquisition. It is not to be seriously supposed that Razumov had actually dozed off and had dreamed in the presence of Councillor Mikulin, of an old print of the Inquisition.
Razumov; but you may believe my assertion that these words are forcible enough to make both his mother and his sister believe implicitly in the worth of your judgment and in the truth of anything you may have to say to them. It's impossible for you now to pass them by like strangers."
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