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- CRIME AND PUNISHMENT 475
peeped through. The rcjom, which was somewhat larger than
his, had two occupants. One of them, a very curly-headed man
with a red inflamed face, was standing in the pose of an orator,
witho^it his coat, with his legs wide apart to preserve his balance,
and smiting himself on the breast. He reproached the other with
being a beggar, with having no standing whatever. He declared
that he had taken the other out of the gutter and he could turn
him out when he liked, and that only the finger of Providence
sees it all. The object of his reproaches was sitting in a chair,
and had the air of a man who wants dreadfully to sneeze, but
can't. He sometimes turned sheepish and befogged eyes on the
speaker, but obviously had not the slightest idea what he was
talking about and scarcely heard it. A candle was burning down
on the table; there were wine glasses, a nearly empty bottle of
vodka, bread and cucumber, and glasses with the dregs of stale
tea. After gazing attentively at this, Svidrigailov turned away
indifferently and sat down on the bed.
The ragged attendant, returning with the tea, could not resist
asking him again whether he didn't want anything more, and
again receiving a negative reply, finally withdrew. Svidrigailov
made haste to drink a glass of tea to warm himself, but could not
eat anything. He began to feel feverish. He took off his coat
and, wrapping himself in the blanket, lay down on the bed. He
was annoyed. "It would have been better to be well for the
occasion," he thought with a smile. The room was close, the
candle burnt dimly, the wind was roaring outside, he heard a
mouse scratching in the corner and the room smelt of mice and
of leather. He lay in a sort of reverie: one thought followed
another. He felt a longing to fix his imagination on something.
"It must be a garden under the window," he thought. "There's
a sound of trees. How I dislike the sound of trees on a stormy
night, in the dark! They give one a horrid feeling." He remem-
bered how he had disliked it when he passed Petrovsky Park just
now. This reminded him of the bridge over the Little Neva and
he felt cold again as he had when standing there. "I never have
liked water," he thought, "even in a landscap>e," and he suddenly
smiled again at a strange idea: "Surely now all these questions
of taste and comfort ought not to matter, but I've become more
particular, like an animal that picks eut a special place . . . for
such an occasion. I ought to have gone into the Petro^vsky Park!
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