He
looked past me and, if one had not seen the live agony of his eyes,
one would have thought that he was absorbed in watching something that
was so distant that he must concentrate all his attention upon it.
I got upon my feet and as my eyes met his I knew without any question
at all that Marie Ivanovna was dead.
When I had risen we stood for a moment facing one another, then
without a word he turned towards the house. I followed him, leaving my
book upon the grass. He walking slowly in front of me with his usual
assured step, except that once he walked into a bush that was to his
right; he afterwards came away from it, as a man walking in his sleep
might do, without lowering his eyes to look at it. We entered by a
side-door. I, myself, had no thoughts at all at this time. I felt only
the cold, heavy oppression at my heart, and I had, I remember, no
curiosity as to what had occurred. We passed through passages that
were strangely dark, in a silence that was weighted and mysterious.
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