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sound, as though all of them were holding water in their mouths, as though all were a little ashamed of him. Only Ostrodumov growled: 'And, all the same, I don't feel the least sorry for young men who are led astray by Skoropihin',

'Oh, go to the devil with you!' thought Paklin. 'I'm off!'

He had come to see Nezhdanov with the object of communicating to him his views as to procuring the Polar Star from abroad (the Bell had already ceased to exist), but the conversation had taken such a turn, that it seemed better not even to raise this question. Paklin was already reaching after his cap, when suddenly, without any premonitory noise or knocking, there was heard in the anteroom a marvellously pleasant, manly, and mellow baritone, the very sound of which had somehow a suggestion of exceptional good breeding, good education, and even good perfume.

'Is Mr. Nezhdanov at home?'

They all looked at one another in amazement.

'Mr. Nezhdanov at home?' repeated the baritone.

'Yes,' answered Nezhdanov at last.

The door was opened discreetly and smoothly, and slowly removing his glossy hat from his