I lay in bed chuckling as
though I had won a triumph over Semyonov, as though I said to myself,
"Well, I needn't be afraid of him any longer." It was a most beautiful
day, crystal clear, with a stainless blue sky and the snow like a carpet
of jewels, and I thought I would go and see how the world was behaving.
I walked down the Morskaia, finding it quiet enough, although I fancied
that the faces of the passers-by were anxious and nervous. Nevertheless,
the brilliant sunshine and the clear peaceful beauty of the snow
reassured me--the world was too beautiful and well-ordered a place to
allow disturbance. Then at the corner of the English shop where the
Morskaia joins the Nevski Prospect, I realised that something had
occurred. It was as though the world that I had known so long, and with
whom I felt upon such intimate terms, had suddenly screwed round its
face and showed me a new grin.
The broad space of the Nevski was swallowed up by a vast crowd, very
quiet, very amiable, moving easily, almost slothfully, in a slowly
stirring stream.
As I looked up the Nevski I realised what it was that had given me the
first positive shock of an altered world.
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