It was, thank God, too warm an
evening for a Shuba. The men shook hands, and Grogoff saying something
rather deferentially about the meeting, Lenin, in short, brusque tones,
put him immediately in his place. Then they went out together, the door
closed behind them, and the flat was as silent as an aquarium. He waited
for a while, and then, hearing nothing, crept into the hall. Perhaps
Nina was out. If the old servant saw him she would think him a burglar
and would certainly scream. He pushed back the door in front of him,
stepped forward, and almost stepped upon Nina!
She gave a little cry, not seeing whom it was. She was looking very
untidy, her hair loose down her back, and a rough apron over her dress.
She looked ill, and there were heavy black lines under her eyes as
though she had not slept for weeks.
Then she saw who it was and, in spite of herself, smiled.
"Genry!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," he said in a whisper, closing the door very softly behind him.
"Look here, don't scream or do anything foolish. I don't want that old
woman to catch me."
He has no very clear memory of the conversation that followed.
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