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 stealing！
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 announced； 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。〃
The man looked at him attentively； looked round the room and
turned to go away。
〃He's downright ill！〃 observed Nastasya； not taking her eyes off
him。 The porter turned his head for a moment。 〃He's been in a fever
since yesterday；〃 she added。
Raskolnikov made no response and held the paper in his hands；
without opening it。 〃Don't you get up then；〃 Nastasya went on
compassionately； seeing that he was letting his feet down from the
sofa。 〃You're ill； and so don't go； there's no such hurry。 What have
you got there？〃
He looked； in his right hand he held the shreds he had cut from
his trousers； the sock； and the rags of the pocket。 So he had been
asleep with them in his hand。 Afterwards reflecting upon it； he
remembered that half waking up in his fever； he had grasped all this
tightly in his hand and so fallen asleep again。
〃Look at the rags he's collected and sleeps with them； as though
he has got hold of a treasure。。。〃
And Nastasya went off into her hysterical giggle。
Instantly he thrust them all under his great coat and fixed his eyes
intently upon her。 Far as he was from being capable of rational
reflection at that moment； he felt that no one would behave like
that with a person who was going to be arrested。 〃But。。。 the police？〃
〃You'd better have some tea！ Yes？ I'll bring it； there's some left。〃
〃No。。。 I'm going； I'll go at once；〃 he muttered； getting on to his
feet。
〃Why； you'll never get downstairs！〃
〃Yes； I'll go。〃
〃As you please。〃
She followed the porter out。
At once he rushed to the light to examine the sock and the rags。
〃There are stains； but not very noticeable； all covered with dirt；
and rubbed and already discoloured。 No one who had no suspicion
could distinguish anything。 Nastasya from a distance could not have
noticed； thank God！〃 Then with a tremor he broke the seal of the
notice and began reading； he was a long while reading； before he
understood。 It was an ordinary summons from the district police
station to appear that day at half past nine at the office of the
district superintendent。
〃But when has such a thing happened？ I never have anything to do
with the police！ And why just to…day？〃 he thought in agonising
bewilderment。 〃Good God； only get it over soon！〃
He was flinging himself on his knees to pray； but broke into
laughter… not at the idea of prayer； but at himself。
He began； hurriedly dressing。 〃If I'm lost； I am lost； I don't care！
Shall I put the sock on？〃 he suddenly wondered； 〃it will get dustier
still and the traces will be gone。〃
But no sooner had he put it on than he pulled it off again in
loathing and horror。 He pulled it off； but reflecting that he had no
other socks； he picked it up and put it on again… and again he
laughed。
〃That's all conventional； that's all relative； merely a way of
looking at it；〃 he thought in a flash； but only on the top surface
of his mind； while he was shuddering all over； 〃there； I've got it on！
I have finished by getting it on！〃
But his laughter was quickly followed by despair。
〃No； it's too much for me。。。〃 he thought。 His legs shook。 〃From
fear；〃 he muttered。 His head swam and ached with fever。 〃It's a trick！
They want to decoy me there and confound me over everything；〃 he
mused； as he went out on to the stairs… 〃the worst of it is I'm almost
light…headed。。。 I may blurt out something stupid。。。〃
On the stairs he remembered that he was leaving all the things
just as they were in the hole in the wall； 〃and very likely； it's on
purpose to search when I'm out；〃 he thought； and stopped short。 But he
was possessed by such despair； such cynicism of misery； if one may
so call it； that with a wave of his hand he went on。 〃Only to get it
over！〃
In the street the heat was insufferable again； not a drop of rain
had fallen all those days。 Again dust； bricks； and mortar； again the
stench from the shops and pot…houses； again the drunken men； the
Finnish pedlars and half…broken…down cabs。 The sun shone straight in
his eyes； so that it hurt him to look out of them； and he felt his
head going round… as a man in a fever is apt to feel when he comes out
into the street on a bright sunny day。
When he reached the turning into the street； in an agony of
trepidation he looked down it。。。 at the house。。。 and at once averted
his eyes。
〃If they question me； perhaps I'll simply tell；〃 he thought； as he
drew near the police station。
The police station was about a quarter of a mile off。 It had
lately been moved to new rooms on the fourth floor of a new house。
He had been once for a moment in the old office but long ago。
Turning in at the gateway； he saw on the right a flight of stairs
which a peasant was mounting with a book in his hand。 〃A house…porter；
no doubt； so then； the office is here；〃 and he began ascending the
stairs on the chance。 He did not want to ask questions of any one。
〃I'll go in； fall on my knees； and confess everything。。。〃 he
thought； as he reached the fourth floor。
The staircase was steep； narrow and all sloppy with dirty water。 The
kitchens of the flats opened on to the stairs and stood open almost
the whole day。 So there was a fearful smell and heat。 The staircase
was crowded with porters going up and down with their books under
their arms； policemen； and persons