“What’s not to like about this building?” said Klavdia G. Kiselyova, 78, who moved in when the high-rise opened. Standing on her stoop bundled in furs and watching dump trucks cart away debris, she mused aloud. “It’s an amazing house.”

Judging by a sign on an entryway near the collapse, it looked as if they were getting their way. “Dear Residents!” it read. “An inspection found residing in apartments in entryway 10 is allowed.” The collapse had occurred in entryway seven.

Yet, others were more skeptical about moving back in. Yulia V. Skalvysh, an accountant at the steel mill, said she was told she would have to return to her two-room apartment a few yards away from the collapse. The authorities were apparently unconcerned about a crack in the tiled wall of her kitchen that she said was growing longer each day.

“They say, ‘It’s safe, you can return,’ but I don’t want to,” she said. “I want to live in safety.”

For some, the close call reinforced their belief in God. Vera D. Saravarova, 59, who lived next door to an apartment that collapsed into the void, attributed her survival to having remained in church the day before for the entire two-hour sermon, even though she had wanted to duck out.

Russian Orthodox churches have no pews, she said, and her feet were beginning to hurt. But a friend told her, “You have to stay” until the priests wrap it up, and she did. “It was a miracle,” she said. “We were protected by God.”