He could not have told, any more than one can ever
tell in dreams, how he was so certain of this. He could only see the
little window as the dimmest and darkest square of shadow behind
Markovitch's candle, but he was sure that this was so. He could even see
Semyonov standing there, in his shirt, with his thick legs, his head a
little raised, listening...
For what seemed an endless time Markovitch did not move. He also seemed
to be listening. Was it possible that he heard Semyonov's breathing?...
But, of course, I have never had any actual knowledge that Semyonov was
there. That was simply Bohun's idea....
Then Markovitch began very slowly, bending a little, as though it were
stiff and difficult, to turn the handle. I don't know what then Bohun
would have done. He must, I think, have moved, shouted, screamed, done
something or other. There was another interruption. He heard a quick,
soft step behind him. He moved into the shadow.
It was Vera, in her night-dress, her hair down her back.
She came forward into the room and whispered very quietly: "Nicholas!"
He turned at once. He did not seem to be startled or surprised; he had
dropped the revolver at once back into his pocket.
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