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Updated: May 22, 2025
He nodded to Kirilin, and, quickly crossing the boulevard, walked along the street to Sheshkovsky's, where there were lights in the windows, and then they heard the gate bang as he went in. "Allow me to have an explanation with you," said Kirilin. "I'm not a boy, not some Atchkasov or Latchkasov, Zatchkasov. . . . I demand serious attention." Nadyezhda Fyodorovna's heart began beating violently.
He looked at Sheshkovsky's sullen, tear-stained face, and at the two carriages ahead of them in which Von Koren, his seconds, and the doctor were sitting, and it seemed to him as though they were all coming back from a graveyard in which a wearisome, insufferable man who was a burden to others had just been buried.
"Who's there?" he heard Olga's voice. "Is Nadyezhda Fyodorovna at home?" "No, she has not come in yet." "Strange . . . very strange," thought Atchmianov, feeling very uneasy. "She went home. . . ." He walked along the boulevard, then along the street, and glanced in at the windows of Sheshkovsky's. Laevsky was sitting at the table without his coat on, looking attentively at his cards.
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