Bogdanov Ivan Petrovich

He wasn’t tall—sturdy, heavy as lead. His face showed concentrated businesslike diligence and constant worry—something you often see in doctors or accountants; at the same time, his features were plain, everyday, and didn’t catch the eye. Thick mustaches peeped from beneath a wide-brimmed soft hat, and his beard was trimmed in a wedge.

He was dressed according to the weather in a coat and carried a thick, knotty walking stick in his hand. He walked confidently, quickly, and decisively. Striking the ground heavily with the stick, this man hardly paid attention to either the street or the dead end: everything here was familiar to him down to the smallest details—people, their occupations, habits, and local quirks, because he himself had been born and raised in similar quarters among craftsmen.