“Oh, has he?” said I. “How’s he been doing that?”
Laughing at him, apparently. They all laughed at him. It was his own fault.
“Alexei’s living with us now, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, “what’s he doing that for?”
“He wanted to,” said Uncle Ivan simply. “He’s always done what he’s wanted to, all his life.”
“It makes it a great many of you in one small flat.”
“Yes, doesn’t it?” said Uncle Ivan amiably. “Very pleasant—although, Ivan Andreievitch, I will admit to you quite frankly that I’ve always been frightened of Alexei. He has such a very sharp tongue. He discovers one’s weak spots in a marvellous manner.... We all have weak spots you know,” he added apologetically.
“Yes, we have,” I said.
Then, to my relief, Vera came in. She was very sweet to me, expressing much concern about my illness, asking me to stay and have my meal with them.... She suddenly broke off. There was a letter lying on the table addressed to her. I saw at once that it was in Nina’s handwriting.
“Nina! Writing to me!” She picked it up, stood back looking at the envelope before she opened it. She read it, then turned on me with a cry.