et in
St. Petersburg. Noisily shuffling his down-trodden goloshes and slowly
swinging his heavy, clumsy figure, the man at last reached the very top
flight and stopped before a half-open door hanging off its hinges. He
did not ring the bell, but gave a loud sigh and walked straight into a
small, dark passage.

"Is Nejdanov at home?" he called out in a deep, loud voice.

"No, he's not. I'm here. Come in," an equally coarse woman's voice
responded from the adjoining room.

"Is that Mashurina?" asked the newcomer.

"Yes, it is I. Are you Ostrodumov?

"Pemien Ostrodumov," he replied, carefully removing his goloshes, and
hanging his shabby coat on a nail, he went into the room from whence
issued the woman's voice.

It was a narrow, untidy room, with dull green coloured walls, badly
lighted by two dusty windows. The furnishings consisted of an iron
bedstead standing in a corner, a table in the middle, several chairs,
and a bookcase piled up with books. At the table sat a woman of about
thirty. She was bareheaded, clad in a black stuff dress, and was smoking
a cigarette. On catching sight of Ostrodumov she extended her broad, red
hand without a word. He shook it, also without saying anything, dropped
into a chair and pulled a half-broken cigar out of a side pocket.
Mashurina gave him a light, and without exchanging a single word, or so
much as looking at one another, they began sending out long, blue puffs
into the stuffy room, already filled with smoke.

There was something similar about these two smokers, although their
features were not a bit alike. In these two slovenly figures, with their
coarse lips, teeth, and noses (Ostrodumov was even pock-marked), there
was something honest and firm and persevering.

"Have you seen Nejdanov?" Ostrodumov asked.

"Yes. He will be back directly. He has gone to the library with some
books."

Ostrodumov spat to one side.

"Why is he always rushing about nowadays? One can never get hold of
him."

Mashurina took out another cigarette.

"He's bored," she remarked, lighting it carefully.

"Bored!" Ostrodumov repeated reproachfully. "What self-indulgence! One
would think we had no work to do. Heaven knows how we shall get through
with it, and he complains of being bored!"

"Have you heard from Moscow?" Mashurina asked after a pause.

"Yes. A letter came three days ago."

"Have you read it?"

Ostrodumov nodded his head.

"Well? What news?

"Some of us must go there s