We said a word to Burrows, put on our Shubas and goloshes, and started down the stairs. At every door there were anxious faces. Out of one flat came a very fat Jew.
“Gentlemen, what is this all about?”
“Riots,” said Bohun.
“Is there shooting?”
“Yes,” said Bohun.
“Bozhe moi! Bozhe moi! And I live over on Vassily Ostrov! What do you advise, Gaspoda? Will the bridges be up?”
“Very likely,” I answered. “I should stay here.”
“And they are shooting?” he asked again.
“They are,” I answered.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen—stay for a moment. Perhaps together we could think.... I am all alone here except for a lady... most unfortunate....”