He
waked
up
late
next
day
after
a
broken
sleep.
But
his
sleep
had
not
refreshed
him;
he
waked
up
bilious, irritable, ill-tempered,
and
looked
with
hatred
at
his
room.
It
was
a tiny cupboard
of
a
room
about
six
paces
in
length.
It
had a poverty-stricken
appearance
with
its
dusty
yellow
paper peeling
off
the
walls,
and
it
was
so
low-pitched
that
a
man
of
more
than
average
height
was
ill
at
ease
in
it
and
felt
every
moment
that
he
would
knock
his
head
against
the
ceiling.
The
furniture
was
in
keeping
with
the
room:
there
were
three
old
chairs,
rather
rickety; a painted table
in
the
corner
on
which
lay
a
few
manuscripts
and
books;
the
dust
that
lay
thick
upon
them
showed
that
they
had been
long
untouched. A
big
clumsy
sofa
occupied
almost
the
whole
of
one
wall
and
half
the
floor
space
of
the
room;
it
was
once
covered
with
chintz,
but
was
now
in
rags
and
served Raskolnikov
as
a bed.
Often
he
went
to
sleep
on
it,
as
he
was,
without
undressing,
without
sheets, wrapped
in
his
old
student's overcoat,
with
his
head
on
one
little
pillow,
under
which
he
heaped
up
all
the
linen
he
had, clean
and
dirty,
by
way
of
a bolster. A
little
table stood
in
front
of
the
sofa.
It
would
have
been
difficult
to
sink
to
a
lower
ebb
of
disorder,
but
to
Raskolnikov
in
his
present
state
of
mind
this
was
positively agreeable.
He
had got completely
away
from
everyone,
like
a
tortoise
in
its
shell,
and
even
the
sight
of
a
servant
girl
who
had
to
wait
upon
him
and
looked
sometimes
into
his
room
made
him
writhe
with
nervous
irritation.
He
was
in
the
condition
that
overtakes
some
monomaniacs entirely concentrated
upon
one
thing.
His
landlady had
for
the
last
fortnight
given
up
sending
him
in
meals,
and
he
had
not
yet
thought
of
expostulating
with
her,
though
he
went
without
his
dinner. Nastasya,
the
cook
and
only
servant,
was
rather
pleased
at
the
lodger's mood
and
had entirely
given
up
sweeping
and
doing
his
room,
only
once
a
week
or
so
she
would
stray
into
his
room
with
a broom.
She
waked
him
up
that
day. "Get up,
why
are
you
asleep?"
she
called
to
him. "It's past nine, I
have
brought
you
some
tea;
will
you
have
a cup? I
should
think
you're
fairly
starving?" Raskolnikov
opened
his
eyes, started
and
recognised
Nastasya. "From
the
landlady, eh?"
he
asked,
slowly
and
with
a sickly face sitting
up
on
the
sofa. "From
the
landlady, indeed!"
She
set
before
him
her
own
cracked
teapot
full
of
weak
and
stale
tea
and
laid
two
yellow
lumps
of
sugar
by
the
side
of
it. "Here, Nastasya,
take
it
please,"
he
said, fumbling
in
his
pocket
(for
he
had slept
in
his
clothes)
and
taking
out
a
handful
of
coppers—"run
and
buy
me
a loaf.
And
get
me
a
little
sausage,
the
cheapest,
at
the
pork-butcher's." "The
loaf
I'll fetch
you
this
very
minute,
but
wouldn't
you
rather
have
some
cabbage
soup
instead
of
sausage? It's
capital
soup, yesterday's. I saved
it
for
you
yesterday,
but
you
came
in
late. It's
fine
soup."
When
the
soup
had been brought,
and
he
had begun
upon
it, Nastasya sat
down
beside
him
on
the
sofa
and
began chatting.
She
was
a
country
peasant-woman
and
a
very
talkative
one. "Praskovya Pavlovna
means
to
complain
to
the
police
about
you,"
she
said.
He
scowled. "To
the
police?
What
does
she
want?" "You don't
pay
her
money
and
you
won't
turn
out
of
the
room. That's
what
she
wants,
to
be
sure." "The devil, that's
the
last
straw,"
he
muttered, grinding
his
teeth, "no,
that
would
not
suit me...
just
now.
She
is
a fool,"
he
added aloud. "I'll
go
and
talk
to
her
to-day." "Fool
she
is
and
no
mistake,
just
as
I am.
But
why,
if
you
are
so
clever,
do
you
lie
here
like
a sack
and
have
nothing
to
show
for
it?
One
time
you
used
to
go
out,
you
say,
to
teach
children.
But
why
is
it
you
do
nothing
now?" "I
am
doing..." Raskolnikov began
sullenly
and
reluctantly. "What
are
you
doing?" "Work..." "What
sort
of
work?" "I
am
thinking,"
he
answered
seriously
after
a pause. Nastasya
was
overcome
with
a fit
of
laughter.
She
was
given
to
laughter
and
when
anything
amused
her,
she
laughed inaudibly,
quivering
and
shaking
all
over
till
she
felt ill. "And
have
you
made
much
money
by
your
thinking?"
she
managed
to
articulate
at
last. "One can't
go
out
to
give
lessons
without
boots.
And
I'm
sick
of
it." "Don't
quarrel
with
your
bread
and
butter." "They
pay
so
little
for
lessons. What's
the
use
of
a
few
coppers?"
he
answered, reluctantly,
as
though
replying
to
his
own
thought. "And
you
want
to
get
a
fortune
all
at
once?"
He
looked
at
her
strangely. "Yes, I
want
a fortune,"
he
answered
firmly,
after
a
brief
pause. "Don't
be
in
such
a hurry,
you
quite
frighten me!
Shall
I
get
you
the
loaf
or
not?" "As
you
please." "Ah, I forgot! A
letter
came
for
you
yesterday
when
you
were
out." "A letter?
for
me!
from
whom?" "I can't say. I gave
three
copecks
of
my
own
to
the
postman
for
it.
Will
you
pay
me
back?" "Then
bring
it
to
me,
for
God's sake,
bring
it," cried Raskolnikov
greatly
excited—"good God!" A
minute
later
the
letter
was
brought him.
That
was
it:
from
his
mother,
from
the
province
of
R——.
He
turned
pale
when
he
took
it.
It
was
a
long
while
since
he
had received a letter,
but
another
feeling
also
suddenly
stabbed
his
heart. "Nastasya,
leave
me
alone,
for
goodness' sake;
here
are
your
three
copecks,
but
for
goodness' sake,
make
haste
and
go!" "My
dear
Rodya," wrote
his
mother—"it's
two
months
since
I
last
had a talk
with
you
by
letter
which
has distressed
me
and
even
kept
me
awake
at
night, thinking.
But
I
am
sure
you
will
not
blame
me
for
my
inevitable
silence.
You
know
how
I
love
you;
you
are
all
we
have
to
look
to, Dounia
and
I,
you
are
our
all,
our
one
hope,
our
one
stay.
What
a
grief
it
was
to
me
when
I
heard
that
you
had
given
up
the
university
some
months
ago,
for
want
of
means
to
keep
yourself
and
that
you
had lost
your
lessons
and
your
other
work!
How
could
I
help
you
out
of
my
hundred
and
twenty
roubles a
year
pension?
The
fifteen
roubles I sent
you
four
months
ago
I borrowed,
as
you
know,
on
security
of
my pension,
from
Vassily Ivanovitch Vahrushin a
merchant
of
this
town.
He
is
a kind-hearted
man
and
was
a
friend
of
your
father's too.
But
having
given
him
the
right
to
receive
the
pension, I had
to
wait
till
the
debt
was
paid
off
and
that
is
only
just
done,
so
that
I've been
unable
to
send
you
anything
all
this
time.
But
now,
thank
God, I
believe
I
shall
be
able
to
send
you
something
more
and
in
fact
we
may
congratulate
ourselves
on
our
good
fortune
now,
of
which
I hasten
to
inform
you.
In
the
first
place,
would
you
have
guessed,
dear
Rodya,
that
your
sister
has been
living
with
me
for
the
last
six
weeks
and
we
shall
not
be
separated
in
the
future.
Thank
God,
her
sufferings
are
over,
but
I
will
tell
you
everything
in
order,
so
that
you
may
know
just
how
everything has
happened
and
all
that
we
have
hitherto
concealed
from
you.
When
you
wrote
to
me
two
months
ago
that
you
had
heard
that
Dounia had a
great
deal
to
put
up
with
in
the
Svidrigraďlovs' house,
when
you
wrote
that
and
asked
me
to
tell
you
all
about
it—what
could
I
write
in
answer
to
you?
If
I had written
the
whole
truth
to
you, I
dare
say
you
would
have
thrown
up
everything
and
have
come
to
us,
even
if
you
had
to
walk
all
the
way,
for
I
know
your
character
and
your
feelings,
and
you
would
not
let
your
sister
be
insulted. I
was
in
despair
myself,
but
what
could
I do? And, besides, I
did
not
know
the
whole
truth
myself
then.
What
made
it
all
so
difficult
was
that
Dounia received a
hundred
roubles
in
advance
when
she
took
the
place
as
governess
in
their
family,
on
condition
of
part
of
her
salary being
deducted
every
month,
and
so
it
was
impossible
to
throw
up
the
situation
without
repaying
the
debt.
This
sum
(now I
can
explain
it
all
to
you, my precious Rodya)
she
took
chiefly
in
order
to
send
you
sixty
roubles,
which
you
needed
so
terribly
then
and
which
you
received
from
us
last
year.
We
deceived
you
then,
writing
that
this
money
came
from
Dounia's savings,
but
that
was
not
so,
and
now
I
tell
you
all
about
it, because,
thank
God,
things
have
suddenly
changed
for
the
better,
and
that
you
may
know
how
Dounia
loves
you
and
what
a
heart
she
has.
At
first
indeed
Mr. Svidrigaďlov treated
her
very
rudely
and
used
to
make
disrespectful
and
jeering remarks
at
table....
But
I don't
want
to
go
into
all
those
painful details,
so
as
not
to
worry
you
for
nothing
when
it
is
now
all
over.
In
short,
in
spite
of
the
kind
and
generous
behaviour
of
Marfa Petrovna, Mr. Svidrigaďlov's wife,
and
all
the
rest
of
the
household, Dounia had a
very
hard
time, especially
when
Mr. Svidrigaďlov, relapsing
into
his
old
regimental habits,
was
under
the
influence
of
Bacchus.
And
how
do
you
think
it
was
all
explained
later on?
Would
you
believe
that
the
crazy
fellow
had
conceived
a
passion
for
Dounia
from
the
beginning,
but
had
concealed
it
under
a
show
of
rudeness
and
contempt. Possibly
he
was
ashamed
and
horrified
himself
at
his
own
flighty hopes,
considering
his
years
and
his
being
the
father
of
a family;
and
that
made
him
angry
with
Dounia.
And
possibly, too,
he
hoped
by
his
rude
and
sneering
behaviour
to
hide
the
truth
from
others.
But
at
last
he
lost
all
control
and
had
the
face
to
make
Dounia
an
open
and
shameful
proposal, promising
her
all
sorts
of
inducements
and
offering, besides,
to
throw
up
everything
and
take
her
to
another
estate
of
his,
or
even
abroad.
You
can
imagine
all
she
went through!
To
leave
her
situation
at
once
was
impossible
not
only
on
account
of
the
money
debt,
but
also
to
spare
the
feelings
of
Marfa Petrovna,
whose
suspicions
would
have
been aroused:
and
then
Dounia
would
have
been
the
cause
of
a rupture
in
the
family.
And
it
would
have
meant a
terrible
scandal
for
Dounia too;
that
would
have
been inevitable.
There
were
various
other
reasons
owing
to
which
Dounia
could
not
hope
to
escape
from
that
awful
house
for
another
six
weeks.
You
know
Dounia,
of
course;
you
know
how
clever
she
is
and
what
a
strong
will
she
has. Dounia
can
endure
a
great
deal
and
even
in
the
most
difficult
cases
she
has
the
fortitude
to
maintain
her
firmness.
She
did
not
even
write
to
me
about
everything
for
fear
of
upsetting me, although
we
were
constantly
in
communication.
It
all
ended
very
unexpectedly. Marfa Petrovna accidentally overheard
her
husband
imploring
Dounia
in
the
garden, and,
putting
quite
a
wrong
interpretation
on
the
position, threw
the
blame
upon
her,
believing
her
to
be
the
cause
of
it
all.
An
awful
scene
took
place
between
them
on
the
spot
in
the
garden; Marfa Petrovna went
so
far
as
to
strike Dounia,
refused
to
hear
anything
and
was
shouting
at
her
for
a
whole
hour
and
then
gave orders
that
Dounia
should
be
packed
off
at
once
to
me
in
a
plain
peasant's cart,
into
which
they
flung
all
her
things,
her
linen
and
her
clothes,
all
pell-mell,
without
folding
it
up
and
packing
it.
And
a heavy shower
of
rain
came on, too,
and
Dounia,
insulted
and
put
to
shame, had
to
drive
with
a
peasant
in
an
open
cart
all
the
seventeen
versts
into
town.
Only
think
now
what
answer
could
I
have
sent
to
the
letter
I received
from
you
two
months
ago
and
what
could
I
have
written? I
was
in
despair; I
dared
not
write
to
you
the
truth
because
you
would
have
been
very
unhappy, mortified
and
indignant,
and
yet
what
could
you
do?
You
could
only
perhaps
ruin yourself, and, besides, Dounia
would
not
allow
it;
and
fill
up
my
letter
with
trifles
when
my
heart
was
so
full
of
sorrow, I
could
not.
For
a
whole
month
the
town
was
full
of
gossip
about
this
scandal,
and
it
came
to
such
a pass
that
Dounia
and
I
dared
not
even
go
to
church
on
account
of
the
contemptuous
looks, whispers,
and
even
remarks
made
aloud
about
us.
All
our
acquaintances
avoided
us,
nobody
even
bowed
to
us
in
the
street,
and
I learnt
that
some
shopmen
and
clerks
were
intending
to
insult
us
in
a
shameful
way,
smearing
the
gates
of
our
house
with
pitch,
so
that
the
landlord began
to
tell
us
we
must
leave.
All
this
was
set
going
by
Marfa Petrovna
who
managed
to
slander
Dounia
and
throw
dirt
at
her
in
every
family.
She
knows
everyone
in
the
neighbourhood,
and
that
month
she
was
continually
coming
into
the
town,
and
as
she
is
rather
talkative
and
fond
of
gossiping
about
her
family
affairs
and
particularly
of
complaining
to
all
and
each
of
her
husband—which
is
not
at
all
right—so
in
a
short
time
she
had
spread
her
story
not
only
in
the
town,
but
over
the
whole
surrounding
district.
It
made
me
ill,
but
Dounia bore
it
better
than
I did,
and
if
only
you
could
have
seen
how
she
endured
it
all
and
tried
to
comfort
me
and
cheer
me
up!
She
is
an
angel!
But
by
God's mercy,
our
sufferings
were
cut
short: Mr. Svidrigaďlov
returned
to
his
senses
and
repented
and, probably feeling
sorry
for
Dounia,
he
laid
before
Marfa Petrovna a complete
and
unmistakable
proof
of
Dounia's innocence,
in
the
form
of
a
letter
Dounia had been forced
to
write
and
give
to
him,
before
Marfa Petrovna came
upon
them
in
the
garden.
This
letter,
which
remained
in
Mr. Svidrigaďlov's
hands
after
her
departure,
she
had written
to
refuse
personal
explanations
and
secret
interviews,
for
which
he
was
entreating
her.
In
that
letter
she
reproached
him
with
great
heat
and
indignation
for
the
baseness
of
his
behaviour
in
regard
to
Marfa Petrovna, reminding
him
that
he
was
the
father
and
head
of
a
family
and
telling
him
how
infamous
it
was
of
him
to
torment
and
make
unhappy a defenceless girl, unhappy
enough
already. Indeed,
dear
Rodya,
the
letter
was
so
nobly
and
touchingly written
that
I
sobbed
when
I read
it
and
to
this
day
I cannot read
it
without
tears. Moreover,
the
evidence
of
the
servants, too, cleared Dounia's reputation;
they
had
seen
and
known a
great
deal
more
than
Mr. Svidrigaďlov had
himself
supposed—as
indeed
is
always
the
case
with
servants. Marfa Petrovna
was
completely taken aback,
and
'again crushed'
as
she
said
herself
to
us,
but
she
was
completely
convinced
of
Dounia's innocence.
The
very
next
day, being Sunday,
she
went straight
to
the
Cathedral, knelt
down
and
prayed
with
tears
to
Our
Lady
to
give
her
strength
to
bear
this
new
trial
and
to
do
her
duty.
Then
she
came straight
from
the
Cathedral
to
us,
told
us
the
whole
story, wept bitterly and,
fully
penitent,
she
embraced
Dounia
and
besought
her
to
forgive
her.
The
same
morning
without
any
delay,
she
went round
to
all
the
houses
in
the
town
and
everywhere,
shedding
tears,
she
asserted
in
the
most
flattering terms Dounia's
innocence
and
the
nobility
of
her
feelings
and
her
behavior.
What
was
more,
she
showed
and
read
to
everyone
the
letter
in
Dounia's
own
handwriting
to
Mr. Svidrigaďlov
and
even
allowed
them
to
take
copies
of
it—which I
must
say
I
think
was
superfluous.
In
this
way
she
was
busy
for
several
days
in
driving
about
the
whole
town,
because
some
people
had taken offence
through
precedence
having
been
given
to
others.
And
therefore
they
had
to
take
turns,
so
that
in
every
house
she
was
expected
before
she
arrived,
and
everyone
knew
that
on
such
and
such
a
day
Marfa Petrovna
would
be
reading
the
letter
in
such
and
such
a
place
and
people
assembled
for
every
reading
of
it,
even
many
who
had
heard
it
several
times
already
both
in
their
own
houses
and
in
other
people's.
In
my
opinion
a
great
deal, a
very
great
deal
of
all
this
was
unnecessary;
but
that's Marfa Petrovna's character.
Anyway
she
succeeded
in
completely re-establishing Dounia's
reputation
and
the
whole
ignominy
of
this
affair
rested
as
an
indelible
disgrace
upon
her
husband,
as
the
only
person
to
blame,
so
that
I really began
to
feel
sorry
for
him;
it
was
really treating
the
crazy
fellow
too
harshly. Dounia
was
at
once
asked
to
give
lessons
in
several
families,
but
she
refused.
All
of
a
sudden
everyone began
to
treat
her
with
marked
respect
and
all
this
did
much
to
bring
about
the
event
by
which,
one
may
say,
our
whole
fortunes
are
now
transformed.
You
must
know,
dear
Rodya,
that
Dounia has a
suitor
and
that
she
has
already
consented
to
marry
him. I hasten
to
tell
you
all
about
the
matter,
and
though
it
has been
arranged
without
asking
your
consent, I
think
you
will
not
be
aggrieved
with
me
or
with
your
sister
on
that
account,
for
you
will
see
that
we
could
not
wait
and
put
off
our
decision
till
we
heard
from
you.
And
you
could
not
have
judged
all
the
facts
without
being
on
the
spot.
This
was
how
it
happened.
He
is
already
of
the
rank
of
a counsellor, Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin,
and
is
distantly
related
to
Marfa Petrovna,
who
has been
very
active
in
bringing
the
match about.
It
began
with
his
expressing
through
her
his
desire
to
make
our
acquaintance.
He
was
properly
received,
drank
coffee
with
us
and
the
very
next
day
he
sent
us
a
letter
in
which
he
very
courteously
made
an
offer
and
begged
for
a
speedy
and
decided answer.
He
is
a
very
busy
man
and
is
in
a
great
hurry
to
get
to
Petersburg,
so
that
every
moment
is
precious
to
him.
At
first,
of
course,
we
were
greatly
surprised,
as
it
had
all
happened
so
quickly
and
unexpectedly.
We
thought
and
talked
it
over
the
whole
day.
He
is
a well-to-do man,
to
be
depended
upon,
he
has
two
posts
in
the
government
and
has
already
made
his
fortune.
It
is
true
that
he
is
forty-five
years
old,
but
he
is
of
a
fairly
prepossessing
appearance
and
might
still
be
thought
attractive
by
women,
and
he
is
altogether a
very
respectable
and
presentable man,
only
he
seems
a
little
morose
and
somewhat
conceited.
But
possibly
that
may
only
be
the
impression
he
makes
at
first
sight.
And
beware,
dear
Rodya,
when
he
comes
to
Petersburg,
as
he
shortly
will
do,
beware
of
judging
him
too
hastily
and
severely,
as
your
way
is,
if
there
is
anything
you
do
not
like
in
him
at
first
sight. I
give
you
this
warning, although I feel
sure
that
he
will
make
a
favourable
impression
upon
you. Moreover,
in
order
to
understand
any
man
one
must
be
deliberate
and
careful
to
avoid
forming
prejudices
and
mistaken ideas,
which
are
very
difficult
to
correct
and
get
over
afterwards.
And
Pyotr Petrovitch,
judging
by
many
indications,
is
a
thoroughly
estimable
man.
At
his
first
visit, indeed,
he
told
us
that
he
was
a
practical
man,
but
still
he
shares,
as
he
expressed it,
many
of
the
convictions 'of
our
most
rising generation'
and
he
is
an
opponent
of
all
prejudices.
He
said a
good
deal
more,
for
he
seems
a
little
conceited
and
likes
to
be
listened
to,
but
this
is
scarcely
a vice. I,
of
course, understood
very
little
of
it,
but
Dounia
explained
to
me
that,
though
he
is
not
a
man
of
great
education,
he
is
clever
and
seems
to
be
good-natured.
You
know
your
sister's character, Rodya.
She
is
a resolute, sensible,
patient
and
generous
girl,
but
she
has a
passionate
heart,
as
I
know
very
well.
Of
course,
there
is
no
great
love
either
on
his
side,
or
on
hers,
but
Dounia
is
a
clever
girl
and
has
the
heart
of
an
angel,
and
will
make
it
her
duty
to
make
her
husband
happy
who
on
his
side
will
make
her
happiness
his
care.
Of
that
we
have
no
good
reason
to
doubt,
though
it
must
be
admitted
the
matter
has been
arranged
in
great
haste. Besides
he
is
a
man
of
great
prudence
and
he
will
see,
to
be
sure,
of
himself,
that
his
own
happiness
will
be
the
more
secure,
the
happier Dounia
is
with
him.
And
as
for
some
defects
of
character,
for
some
habits
and
even
certain
differences
of
opinion—which
indeed
are
inevitable
even
in
the
happiest marriages—Dounia has said that,
as
regards
all
that,
she
relies
on
herself,
that
there
is
nothing
to
be
uneasy about,
and
that
she
is
ready
to
put
up
with
a
great
deal,
if
only
their
future
relationship
can
be
an
honourable
and
straightforward one.
He
struck me,
for
instance,
at
first,
as
rather
abrupt,
but
that
may
well
come
from
his
being
an
outspoken man,
and
that
is
no
doubt
how
it
is.
For
instance,
at
his
second
visit,
after
he
had received Dounia's consent,
in
the
course
of
conversation,
he
declared
that
before
making
Dounia's acquaintance,
he
had
made
up
his
mind
to
marry
a
girl
of
good
reputation,
without
dowry
and,
above
all,
one
who
had experienced poverty, because,
as
he
explained, a
man
ought
not
to
be
indebted
to
his
wife,
but
that
it
is
better
for
a
wife
to
look
upon
her
husband
as
her
benefactor. I
must
add
that
he
expressed
it
more
nicely
and
politely
than
I
have
done,
for
I
have
forgotten
his
actual
phrases
and
only
remember
the
meaning. And, besides,
it
was
obviously
not
said
of
design,
but
slipped
out
in
the
heat
of
conversation,
so
that
he
tried afterwards
to
correct
himself
and
smooth
it
over,
but
all
the
same
it
did
strike
me
as
somewhat
rude,
and
I said
so
afterwards
to
Dounia.
But
Dounia
was
vexed,
and
answered
that
'words
are
not
deeds,'
and
that,
of
course,
is
perfectly true. Dounia
did
not
sleep
all
night
before
she
made
up
her
mind, and,
thinking
that
I
was
asleep,
she
got
out
of
bed
and
was
walking
up
and
down
the
room
all
night;
at
last
she
knelt
down
before
the
ikon
and
prayed
long
and
fervently
and
in
the
morning
she
told
me
that
she
had decided. "Yours
till
death, "PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV."
Almost
from
the
first,
while
he
read
the
letter, Raskolnikov's face
was
wet
with
tears;
but
when
he
finished it,
his
face
was
pale
and
distorted
and
a bitter, wrathful
and
malignant
smile
was
on
his
lips.
He
laid
his
head
down
on
his
threadbare dirty
pillow
and
pondered,
pondered
a
long
time.
His
heart
was
beating violently,
and
his
brain
was
in
a turmoil.
At
last
he
felt
cramped
and
stifled
in
the
little
yellow
room
that
was
like
a cupboard
or
a box.
His
eyes
and
his
mind
craved
for
space.
He
took
up
his
hat
and
went out,
this
time
without
dread
of
meeting
anyone;
he
had forgotten
his
dread.
He
turned
in
the
direction
of
the
Vassilyevsky Ostrov, walking
along
Vassilyevsky Prospect,
as
though
hastening
on
some
business,
but
he
walked,
as
his
habit
was,
without
noticing
his
way,
muttering
and
even
speaking
aloud
to
himself,
to
the
astonishment
of
the
passers-by.
Many
of
them
took
him
to
be
drunk.