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- 482 CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
"America?"
Svidrigailov took out the revolver and cocked it. Achilles
raised his eyebrows.
"I say, this is not the place for such jokes!"
"Why shouldn't it be the place?"
"Because it isn't."
"Well, brother, I don't mind that. It's a good place. When
you are asked, you just say he was going, he said, to America."
He put the revolver to his right temple.
"You can't do it here, it's not the place," cried Achilles,
rousing himself, his eyes growing bigger and bigger.
Svidrigailov pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER VII
The same day, about seven o'clock in the evening, Raskolnikov
was on his way to his mother's and sister's lodging — the lodging
in Bakaleyev's house which Razumihin had found for them. The
stairs went up from the street. Raskolnikov walked with lagging
steps, as though still hesitating whether to go or not. But noth-
ing would have turned him back: his decision was taken.
"Besides, it doesn't matter, they still know nothing," he
thought, "and they are used to thinking of me as eccentric."
He was appallingly dressed: his clothes torn and dirty, soaked
with a night's rain. His face was almost distorted from fatigue,
exposure, the inward conflict that had lasted for twenty-four
hours. He had spent all the previoias night alone, God knows
where. But anyway he had reached a decision.
He knocked at the door which was opened by his mother.
Dounia was not at home. Even the servant happened to be out.
At first Pulcheria Alexandrovna was speechless with joy and
surprise; then she took him by the hand and drew him into the
room.
"Here you are!" she began, faltering with joy. "Don't be
angry with me, Rodya, for welcoming you so foolishly with
tears: I am laughing, not crying. Did you think I was crying?
No, I am delighted, but I've got into such a stupid habit of
^fhedding tears. I've been like that ever since your father's death.
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