He saw a shadow pass between the moon and
himself. In a panic of terror he cried out, and at the same time struck
a match. Some one came towards him, and he saw that it was Markovitch.
He was so relieved to find that it was a friend that he did not stop to
wonder what Markovitch should be doing hiding in my room. It afterwards
struck him that Markovitch looked odd. "Like a kind of conspirator, in
old shabby Shuba with the collar turned up. He looked jolly ill and
dirty, as though he hadn't slept or washed. He didn't seem a bit
surprised at seeing me there, and I think he scarcely realised that it
_was_ me. He was thinking of something else so hard that he couldn't
take me in."
"Oh, Bohun!" he said in a confused way.
"Hullo, Nicolai Leontievitch," Bohun said, trying to be unconcerned.
"What are you doing here?"
"Came to see Ivan Andreievitch," he said. "Wasn't here; I was going to
write to him."
Bohun then lit a candle and discovered that the place was in a very
considerable mess. Some one had been sifting my desk, and papers and
letters were lying about the floor. The drawers of my table were open,
and one chair was over-turned.
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