A piano tuner called Murkin, a close-shaven man with a yellow face, with a nose stained with snuff and cotton wool in his ears, came out of his hotel room into the passage. And looking at his frightened face one might have supposed that the ceiling had fallen in on him or that he had just seen a ghost in his room. 'Upon my word, Semyon!' he cried, seeing the attendant running towards him. 'What is the meaning of it? I am a rheumatic, delicate man and you make me go barefoot! Why is it you don't give me my boots all this time? Where are they?'

Read in English, unabridged.