“It's close by ... not two paces away,” Simonov repeated, accompanying me to the front door with a fussy air which did not suit him at all.

“So five o'clock, punctually, tomorrow,” he called down the stairs after me. He was very glad to get rid of me. I was in a fury.

“What possessed me, what possessed me to force myself upon them?” I wondered, grinding my teeth as I strode along the street, “for a scoundrel, a pig like that Zverkov! Of course I had better not go; of course, I must just snap my fingers at them. I am not bound in any way. I'll send Simonov a note by tomorrow's post....”

But what made me furious was that I knew for certain that I should go, that I should make a point of going; and the more