"
Lydia Constantinovna stretched out her hand, speaking in the
unaffected, friendly way she had desired earlier: "I know you are a
malicious, bored, lonely cynic, like ... like an old homeless dog ...
But you are kind and intelligent.... You know I will never leave you--
we are so.... But now I am going in to him ... just for the last
time."
Mintz kissed her hand without speaking, then his tall, bony, somewhat
stooping figure disappeared down the corridor.
V
Lydia Constantinovna's bedroom was cold and gloomy. As formerly, it
contained a huge four-poster, a chest of drawers, a dressing table
and a wardrobe. The rain beat fiercely against the window panes
running down in tiny glass globules.
Lydia lighted two candles, and placed them beside the tarnished
mirror. Some toilette belongings, relics of her childhood, lay on the
chest-of-drawers, and the contents of the baggage she had brought
with her the previous day were scattered about the room. The candles
burnt dimly, their yellow tongues flickering unsteadily over the
tarnished mirror.
She changed her garments and put on a loose green neglige, then re-
arranged her hair into plaits, forming them into a coronet which made
her head appear very small and graceful.
From force of habit she opened a bottle of perfume, moistened the
palms of her hands and rubbed them over her neck and bosom.
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