He was uneasy about
my presence there, I thought, and that disturbed me. I felt as I looked
at him the same confusion as I had always felt. I did not hate him. His
strength of character, his fearlessness, these things in a country
famous for neither quality I was driven to admire and to respect. And I
could not hate what I admired.
And yet my fear gathered and gathered in volume as I watched him. What
would he do with these people? What plans had he? What purpose? What
secret, selfish ambitions was he out now to secure?
Markovitch was silent, drinking his tea, watching his wife, watching us
all with his nervous frowning expression.
I rose to go and then, when I had said farewell to every one and went
towards the door, Semyonov joined me.
"Well, Ivan Andreievitch," he said. "So we have not finished with one
another yet."
He looked at me with his steady unswerving eyes; he smiled.
I also smiled as I found my coat and hat in the little hall. Sacha
helped me into my Shuba. He stood, his lips a little apart, watching me.
"What have you been doing all this time?" he asked me.
"I've been ill," I answered.
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