From all of this I was roused by a sharp knock on my door, and I started
up, still bewildered and bemused, but saying to myself aloud, "There's
some one there! there's some one there!..." I stood for quite a while,
listening, on the middle of my shining floor, then the knock was almost
fiercely repeated. I opened the door and, to my surprise, found Semyonov
standing there. He came in, smiling, very polite of course.
"You'll forgive me, Ivan Andreievitch," he said. "This is terribly
unceremonious. But I had an urgent desire to see you, and you wouldn't
wish me, in the circumstances, to have waited."
"Please," I said. I went to the window and drew the blinds. I lit the
lamp. He took off his Shuba and we sat down. The room was very dim now,
and I could only see his mouth and square beard behind the lamp.
"I've no Samovar, I'm afraid," I said. "If I'd known you were coming I'd
have told her to have it ready. But it's too late now. She's gone to
bed."
"Nonsense," he said brusquely. "You know that I don't care about that.
Now we'll waste no time. Let us come straight to the point at once. I've
come to give you some advice, Ivan Andreievitch--very simple advice.
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