The Master and Margarita / Мастер и Маргарита. Книга для чтения на английском языке

He had tried to get up several times, but his legs would not obey – Bezdomny had suffered something in the nature of paralysis.

The poet had rushed off[131 - to rush off – броситься бежать, поспешить] towards the turnstile as soon as he had heard the first shriek, and had seen the head bouncing on the roadway. This had made him lose his senses to such a degree that, falling onto a bench, he had bitten his hand and drawn blood. He had, of course, forgotten about the mad German and was trying to understand just one thing: how it could possibly be that he had just been there, talking with Berlioz, and a minute later… the head…

Agitated people were running along the avenue past the poet, exclaiming something, but Ivan Nikolayevich did not take their words in[132 - to take words in – воспринимать слова].

However, two women unexpectedly bumped into each other beside him, and one of them, sharp-nosed and bare-headed, shouted to the other woman right in the poet’s ear:

“Annushka, our Annushka! From Sadovaya! It’s her doing! She bought some sunflower oil at the grocer’s, and she went and smashed a litre bottle on the revolving bit of the turnstile! Made a mess all over her skirt.

She was really cursing, she was! And he must have slipped, poor thing, and gone over onto the rails.”

Of everything that the woman shouted out, one word took a hold on Ivan Nikolayevich’s deranged mind[133 - a deranged mind – расстроенный мозг]: “Annushka…”

''Annushka… Annushka?” mumbled the poet, gazing around uneasily.

“Permit me, permit me.”

To the word “Annushka” became attached the words “sunflower oil”, and then for some reason “Pontius Pilate”. The poet rejected Pilate and began linking together a chain, beginning with the word “Annushka”. And that chain linked up very quickly, and led at once to the mad Professor.

I’m sorry! I mean, he said the meeting wouldn’t take place because Annushka had spilt the oil.

And, if you’d be so kind, it would not take place! And that’s not all: didn’t he say straight out that a woman would cut off Berlioz’s head?! Yes, yes, yes! And the driver was, after all, a woman! What on earth is all this? Eh?

Not even a grain of doubt remained that the mysterious consultant had definitely known in advance the whole picture of Berlioz’s terrible death.