Fyodor Dostoevsky

I walked rapidly through the dark shop into the familiar drawing-

room, where there was only one candle burning, and stood still in

amazement: there was no one there. "Where are they?" I asked somebody.

But by now, of course, they had separated. Before me was standing a

person with a stupid smile, the "madam" herself, who had seen me

before. A minute later a door opened and another person came in.

Taking no notice of anything I strode about the room, and, I believe, I

talked to myself. I felt as though I had been saved from death and was

conscious of this, joyfully, all over: I should have given that slap, I should

certainly, certainly have given it! But now they were not here and ...

everything had vanished and changed! I looked round. I could not realise

my condition yet. I looked mechanically at the girl who had come in: and

had a glimpse of a fresh, young, rather pale face, with straight, dark

eyebrows, and with grave, as it were wondering, eyes that attracted me at

once; I should have hated her if she had been smiling. I began looking at

her more intently and, as it were, with effort. I had not fully collected my

thoughts. There was something simple and good-natured in her face, but

something strangely grave. I am sure that this stood in her way here, and

no one of those fools had noticed her. She could not, however, have been

called a beauty, though she was tall, strong-looking, and well built. She

was very simply dressed. Something loathsome stirred within me. I went

straight up to her.

I chanced to look into the glass. My harassed face struck me as

revolting in the extreme, pale, angry, abject, with dishevelled hair. "No

matter, I am glad of it," I thought; "I am glad that I shall seem repulsive

to her; I like that."

VI

... Somewhere behind a screen a clock began wheezing, as though

oppressed by something, as though someone were strangling it. After an

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