.. and
what had Semyonov said to her?
Then, thank Heaven, we crossed the Nevski, and our way was clear. The
old cabman whipped up his horse and, in a minute or two we were outside
16 Gagarinskaya. I will confess to very real fears and hesitations as I
climbed the dark stairs (the lift was, of course, not working). I was
not the kind of man for this kind of job. In the first place I hated
quarrels, and knowing Grogoff's hot temper I had every reason to expect
a tempestuous interview. Then I was ill, aching in every limb and seeing
everything, as I always did when I was unwell, mistily and with
uncertainty. Then I had a very shrewd suspicion that there was
considerable truth in what Semyonov had said, that I was interfering in
what only remotely concerned me. At any rate, that was certainly the
view that Grogoff would take, and Nina, perhaps also. I felt, as I rang
the bell of No. 3, that unpleasant pain in the pit of the stomach that
tells you that you're going to make a fool of yourself.
Well, it would not be for the first time.
"Boris Nicolaievitch, _doma_?" I asked the cross-looking old woman who
opened the door.
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