When Queed turned at the end of the
room, Nicolovius was fluttering the pages of his book again, apparently
absorbed in it, apparently quite forgetting that he had just laid it
aside. Then Queed understood. Nicolovius did not mean to say or do
anything. He meant to pass over the little incident altogether.
However, the pretense had now reached a point when Queed could no longer
endure it.
"Perhaps, after all," said Nicolovius, in his studiously bland voice, "I
am a little sweeping--"
Queed stood in front of him, interrupting, suddenly not at ease.
"Professor Nicolovius."
"Yes?"
"I must say something that will offend you, I'm afraid. For some time I
have found myself unable to believe the--story of your life you were
once good enough to give me."
"Ah, well," said Nicolovius, engrossed in his book, "it is not required
of you to believe it. We need have no quarrel about that."
Suddenly Queed found that he hated to give the stab, but he did not
falter.
"I must be frank with you, professor. I saw whom that envelope was
addressed to just now."
"Nor need we quarrel about that.
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