The two regarded one another for a while, then
Markovitch, still moving with the greatest caution, slipped the
revolver back into his pocket, got a chair, climbed on to it and lifted
the picture down from its nail. He looked at it for a moment, staring
into the cracked and roughened paint, then hung it deliberately back on
its nail again, but with its face to the wall. As he did this his bare,
skinny legs were trembling so on the chair that, at every moment, he
threatened to topple over. He climbed down at last, put the chair back
in its place, and then once more turned towards Semyonov's door.
When he reached it he stopped and again took out the revolver, opened
it, looked into it, and closed it. Then he put his hand on the
door-knob.
It was then that Bohun had, as one has in dreams, a sudden impulse to
scream: "Look out! Look out! Look out!" although, Heaven knows, he had
no desire to protect Semyonov from anything. But it was just then that
the oddest conviction came over him, namely, an assurance that Semyonov
was standing on the other side of the door, looking through the little
window and waiting.
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