Sanine noticed this, and came into the room smiling affably. All there was in disorder, as if scattered by a whirlwind. Scraps of paper, straw, and rubbish of all sorts covered the floor. On the bed and the chairs lay books, linen, surgical instruments and a portmanteau.
“Going away?” asked Sanine, in surprise. “Where?” Novikoff avoided the other’s glance and continued to overhaul the things, vexed at his own confusion. At last he said:
“Yes, I’ve got to leave this place. I’ve had my official notice.”
Sanine looked at him and then at the portmanteau. After another glance his features relaxed in a broad smile.
Novikoff was silent, oppressed by his sense of utter loneliness and his inconsolable grief. Lost in his thoughts, he proceeded to wrap up a pair of boots together with some glass tubes.
“If you pack like that,” said Sanine, “when you arrive you’ll find yourself minus either tubes or boots.”
Novikoff’s tear-stained eyes flashed back a reply. They said, “Ah! leave me alone! Surely you can see how sad I am!”
Sanine understood, and was silent.
The dreamy summer twilight-hour had come, and above the verdant garden the sky, clear as crystal, grew paler. At last Sanine spoke.
“Instead of going the deuce knows where, I think it would be much more sensible if you were to marry Lida.”