"Don't get excited. It's not much--maybe nothing at all."
The mother went out and rapped at the door. She strained her ears
for an answering sound, while thinking of Yegor with dread and
grief. He was dying, she knew.
"Who is it?" somebody asked on the other side of the door.
"It's from Yegor Ivanovich," the mother whispered. "He asked you
to come to him."
"I'll come at once," the woman answered without opening the door.
The mother waited a moment, and knocked again. This time the door
opened quickly, and a tall woman wearing glasses stepped out into
the hall, rapidly tidying the ruffled sleeves of her waist. She
asked the mother harshly:
"What do you want?"
"I'm from Yegor Ivanovich."
"Aha! Come! Oh, yes, I know you!" the woman exclaimed in a low
voice. "How do you do? It's dark here."
Nilovna looked at her and remembered that this woman had come to
Nikolay's home on rare occasions.
"All comrades!" flashed through her mind.
The woman compelled Nilovna to walk in front.
"Is he feeling bad?"
"Yes; he's lying down. He asked you to bring something to eat."
"Well, he doesn't need anything to eat."
When they walked into Yegor's room they were met by the words:
"I'm preparing to join my forefathers, my friend.
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