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