" Razumov heard a mild, sad
voice, and opened his eyes. The gentle speaker was an elderly man, with
a great brush of fine hair making a silvery halo all round his
keen, intelligent face. "Peter Ivanovitch shall be informed of your
confession--and you shall be directed...."
Then, turning to Nikita, nicknamed Necator, standing by, he appealed to
him in a murmur--
"What else can we do? After this piece of sincerity he cannot be
dangerous any longer."
The other muttered, "Better make sure of that before we let him go.
Leave that to me. I know how to deal with such gentlemen."
He exchanged meaning glances with two or three men, who nodded slightly,
then turning roughly to Razumov, "You have heard? You are not wanted
here. Why don't you get out?"
The Laspara girl on guard rose, and pulled the chair out of the way
unemotionally. She gave a sleepy stare to Razumov, who started, looked
round the room and passed slowly by her as if struck by some sudden
thought.
"I beg you to observe," he said, already on the landing, "that I had
only to hold my tongue. To-day, of all days since I came amongst you,
I was made safe, and to-day I made myself free from falsehood, from
remorse--independent of every single human being on this earth."
He turned his back on the room, and walked towards the stairs, but, at
the violent crash of the door behind him, he looked over his shoulder
and saw that Nikita, with three others, had followed him out.
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