In solitude, especially at night, he spent some very disagreeable moments.
"Well, I imagined that if a man reads you his novel two days running till after midnight and wants to hear your opinion of it, he has of his own act discarded official relations, anyway....

Yulia Mihailovna treats me as a friend; there's no making you out," Pyotr Stepanovitch brought out, with a certain dignity indeed.

"Here is your novel, by the way." He laid on the table a large heavy manuscript rolled up in blue paper.
Lembke turned red and looked embarrassed.
"Where did you find it ?" he asked discreetly, with a rush of joy which he was unable to suppress, though he did his utmost to conceal it.
"Only fancy, done up like this, it rolled under the chest of drawers.

I must have thrown it down carelessly on the chest when I went out.

It was only found the day before yesterday, when the floor was scrubbed.