Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita -
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Fascinated by the odious cat, Ivan almost lost sight of the most
important of the three--the professor. Luckily he had not managed to slip
away. Ivan spotted his grey beret in the crowd at the top of Herzen Street.
In a flash Ivan was there too, but in vain. The poet speeded up to a run and
began shoving people aside, but it brought him not an inch nearer the
professor.
Confused though Ivan was, he was nevertheless astounded by the
supernatural speed of the pursuit. Less than twenty seconds after leaving
Nikita Gate Ivan Nikolayich was dazzled by the lights of Arbat Square. A few
more seconds and he was in a dark alleyway with uneven pavements where he
tripped and hurt his knee. Again a well-lit main road--Kropotkin Street--
another side-street, then Ostozhenka Street, then another grim, dirty and
badly-lit alley. It was here that Ivan Nikolayich finally lost sight of his
quarry. The professor had disappeared.
Disconcerted, but not for long, for no apparent reason Ivan Nikolayich
had a sudden intuition that the professor must be in house No. 13, flat 47.
Bursting through the front door, Ivan Nikolayich flew up the stairs,
found the right flat and impatiently rang the bell. He did not have to wait
long. The door was opened by a little girl of about five, who silently
disappeared inside again. The hall was a vast, incredibly neglected room
feebly lit by a tiny electric light that dangled in one corner from a
ceiling black with dirt. On the wall hung a bicycle without any tyres,
beneath it a huge iron-banded trunk. On the shelf over the coat-rack was a
winter
fur cap, its long earflaps untied and hanging down. From behind one of
the doors a man's voice could be heard booming from the radio, angrily
declaiming poetry.
Not at all put out by these unfamiliar surroundings, Ivan Nikolayich