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- •496 CRIME AND PUN/SHMENT
the market-place. She had followed him then on his painful way!
Raskolnikov at that moment felt and knew once for all that
Sonia was with him for ever and would follow him to the ends
of the earth, wherever fate might take him. It wrung his heart
. . . but he was just reaching the fatal place.
He went into the yard fairly resolutely. He had to mount to
the third storey. "I shall be some time going up," he thought.
He felt as though the fateful moment was still far off, as though
he had plenty of time left for consideration.
Again the same rubbish, the same eggshells lying about on
the spiral stairs, again the open doors of the flats, again the
same kitchens and the same fumes and stench coming from
them. Raskolnikov had not been here since that day. His legs
were numb and gave way under him, but still they moved
forward. He stopped for a moment to take breath, to collect
himself, so as to enter like a man. "But why? what for?" he
wondered, reflecting. "If I must drink the cup what difference
does it make? The more revolting the better." He imagined for
xn instant the figure of the "explosive lieutenant," Ilya Petro-
vitch. Was he actually going to him? Couldn't he go to some
one else? To Nikodim Fomitch? Couldn't he turn back and
go straight to Nikodim Fomitch's lodgings? At least then it
would be done privately. . . . No, no! To the "explosive lieu-
tenant"! Ifhe must drink it, drink it ofl^ at once.
Turning cold and hardly conscious, he opened the door of the
office. There were very few people in it this time — only a house
porter and a peasant. The doorkeeper did not even peep out
from behind his screen. Raskolnikov walked into the next room.
"Perhaps I still need not speak," passed through his mind. Some
sort of clerk not wearing a uniform was settling himself at a
bureau to write. In a corner another clerk was seating himself.
Zametov was not there, nor, of course, Nikodim Fomitch.
"No one in?" Raskolnikov asked, addressing the person at
the bureau.
"Whom do you want?"
"A-ah! Not a sound was heard, not a sight was seen, but I
scent the Russian . . . how does it go on in the fairy tale . . .
I've forgotten! At your service!" a familiar voice cried sud-
denly.
Raskolnikov shuddered. The Explosive Lieutenant stood be-
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