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- 88 CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
where. Yes, better throw it away," he repeated, sitting down
on the sofa again, "and at once, this minute, without Unger-
ing..."But his head sank on the pillow instead. Again the unbearable
icy shivering came over him; again he drew his coat over him.
And for a long while, for some hours, he was haunted by the
impulse to "go off somewhere at once, this moment, and fling
it all away, so that it may be out of sight and done with, at
once, at once!" Several times he tried to rise from the sofa but
could not.
He was thoroughly waked up at last by a violent knocking
at his door.
"Open, do, are you dead or alive? He keeps sleeping here!"
shouted Nastasya, banging with her fist on the door. "For whole
days together he's snoring here like a dog! A dog he is too. Open
I tell you. It's past ten."
"Maybe he's not at home," said a man's voice.
"Ha! that's the porter's voice. . . . What does he want?"
He jumped up and sat on the sofa. The beating of his heart
was a positive pain.
"Then who can have latched the door?" retorted Nastasya.
"He's taken to bolting himself in! As if he were worth steal-
ing! Open, you stupid, wake up!"
"What do they want? Why the porter? All's discovered.
Resist or open? Come what may! ..."
He half rose, stooped forward and unlatched the door.
His room was so small that he could undo the latch without
leaving the bed. Yes; the porter and Nastasya were standing
there.
Nastasya stared at him in a strange way. He glanced with
a defiant and desperate air at the porter, who without a word
held out a grey folded paper sealed with bottle-wax.
"A notice from the office," he annovmced, as he gave him the
paper.
"From what office?"
"A summons to the police office, of course. You know which
office."
"To the police? . . . What for? ..."
"How can I tell? You're sent for, so you go."
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