"What will you have?" he began in a conciliating voice which got steady
after the first trembling word or two. "What will you have? Consider--a
man of studious, retired habits--and suddenly like this.... I am not
practised in talking delicately. But..."
He felt anger, a wicked anger, get hold of him again.
"What were we to do together till midnight? Sit here opposite each other
and think of your--your--shambles?"
Haldin had a subdued, heartbroken attitude. He bowed his head; his hands
hung between his knees. His voice was low and pained but calm.
"I see now how it is, Razumov--brother. You are a magnanimous soul, but
my action is abhorrent to you--alas...."
Razumov stared. From fright he had set his teeth so hard that his whole
face ached. It was impossible for him to make a sound.
"And even my person, too, is loathsome to you perhaps," Haldin added
mournfully, after a short pause, looking up for a moment, then fixing
his gaze on the floor. "For indeed, unless one...."
He broke off evidently waiting for a word. Razumov remained silent.
Haldin nodded his head dejectedly twice.
"Of course. Of course," he murmured.... "Ah! weary work!"
He remained perfectly still for a moment, then made Razumov's leaden
heart strike a ponderous blow by springing up briskly.
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