"Could it be a wig?" Razumov detected himself wondering with an
unexpected detachment. His self-confidence was much shaken. He resolved
to chatter no more. Reserve! Reserve! All he had to do was to keep
the Ziemianitch episode secret with absolute determination, when the
questions came. Keep Ziemianitch strictly out of all the answers.
Councillor Mikulin looked at him dimly. Razumov's self-confidence
abandoned him completely. It seemed impossible to keep Ziemianitch out.
Every question would lead to that, because, of course, there was nothing
else. He made an effort to brace himself up. It was a failure. But
Councillor Mikulin was surprisingly detached too.
"Why should it be forbidden?" he repeated. "I too consider myself
a thinking man, I assure you. The principal condition is to think
correctly. I admit it is difficult sometimes at first for a young man
abandoned to himself--with his generous impulses undisciplined, so to
speak--at the mercy of every wild wind that blows. Religious belief, of
course, is a great...."
Councillor Mikulin glanced down his beard, and Razumov, whose tension
was relaxed by that unexpected and discursive turn, murmured with gloomy
discontent--
"That man, Haldin, believed in God."
"Ah! You are aware," breathed out Councillor Mikulin, making the point
softly, as if with discretion, but making it nevertheless plainly
enough, as if he too were put off his guard by Razumov's remark.
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