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- CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 111
heard voices, exclamations, knocking, doors banging. "But why,
why, and how could it be?" he repeated, thinking seriously that
he had gone mad. But no, he heard too distinctly! And they
would come to him then next, "for no doubt . . . it's all about
that . . . about yesterday. . . . Good God!" He would have fas-
tened his door with the latch, but he could not lift his hand . . .
besides, it would be useless. Terror gripped his heart like ice, tor-
tured him and numbed him. . . . But at last all this uproar, after
continuing about ten minutes, began gradually to subside. The
landlady was moaning and groaning; Ilya Petrovitch was still
uttering threats and curses. . . . But at last he, too, seemed to be
silent, and now he could not be heard. "Can he have gone away?
Good Lord!" Yes, and now the landlady is going too, still weep-
ing and moaning . . . and then her door slammed. . . . Now the
crowd was going from the stairs to their rooms, exclaiming, dis-
puting, calling to one another, raising their voices to a shout,
dropping them to a whisper. There must have been numbers of
them — almost all the inmates of the block. "But, good God,
how could it be! And why, why had he come here!"
Raskolnikov sank worn out on the sofa, but could not close
his eyes. He lay for half an hour in such anguish, such an intol-
erable sensation of infinite terror as he had never experienced
before. Suddenly a bright light flashed into his room. Nastasya
came in with a candle and a plate of soup. Looking at him
carefully and ascertaining that he was not asleep, she set the
candle on the table and began to lay out what she had brought —
bread, salt, a plate, a spoon.
"You've eaten nothing since yesterday, I warrant. You've
been trudging about all day, and you're shaking with fever."
"Nastasya . . . what were they beating the landlady for?"
She looked intently at him.
"Who beat the landlady?"
"Just now . . . half an hour ago, Ilya Petrovitch, the assistant-
superintendent, on the stairs. . . . Why was he ill-treating her
like that, and . . . why was he here?"
Nastasya scrutinised him, silent and frowning, and her scru-
tiny lasted a long time. He felt uneasy, even frightened at her
searching eyes.
"Nastasya, why don't you speak?" he said timidly at last ii>a weak voice.
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