An intense surprised silence
lasted for a time. "If it's me...."
He stopped, thinking over the form of his confession, and found it
suddenly, unavoidably suggested by the fateful evening of his life.
"I am come here," he began, in a clear voice, "to talk of an individual
called Ziemianitch. Sophia Antonovna has informed me that she would make
public a certain letter from St. Petersburg...."
"Sophia Antonovna has left us early in the evening," said Laspara. "It's
quite correct. Everybody here has heard...."
"Very well," Razumov interrupted, with a shade of impatience, for his
heart was beating strongly. Then, mastering his voice so far that there
was even a touch of irony in his clear, forcible enunciation--
"In justice to that individual, the much ill-used peasant, Ziemianitch,
I now declare solemnly that the conclusions of that letter calumniate a
man of the people--a bright Russian soul. Ziemianitch had nothing to do
with the actual arrest of Victor Haldin."
Razumov dwelt on the name heavily, and then waited till the faint,
mournful murmur which greeted it had died out.
"Victor Victorovitch Haldin," he began again, "acting with, no doubt,
noble-minded imprudence, took refuge with a certain student of whose
opinions he knew nothing but what his own illusions suggested to his
generous heart.
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