turn me out like a dog. I felt ashamed and wounded, wounded to the
point of tears as though I had been insulted, and looking up at the
sky I took a vow to put an end to all this.

The next day I did not go to the Dolzhikov's. Late in the evening,
when it was quite dark and raining, I walked along Great Dvoryansky
Street, looking up at the windows. Everyone was asleep at the
Azhogins', and the only light was in one of the furthest windows.
It was Madame Azhogin in her own room, sewing by the light of three
candles, imagining that she was combating superstition. Our house
was in darkness, but at the Dolzhikovs', on the contrary, the windows
were lighted up, but one could distinguish nothing through the
flowers and the curtains. I kept walking up and down the street;
the cold March rain drenched me through. I heard my father come
home from the club; he stood knocking at the gate. A minute later
a light appeared at the window, and I saw my sister, who was hastening
down with a lamp, while with the other hand she was twisting her
thick hair together as she went. Then my father walked about the
drawing-room, talking and rubbing his hands, while my sister sat
in a low chair, thinking and not listening to what he said.

But then they went away; the light went out. . . . I glanced round
at the engineer's, and there, too, all was darkness now. In the
dark and the rain I felt hopelessly alone, abandoned to the whims
of destiny; I felt that all my doings, my desires, and everything
I had thought and said till then were trivial in comparison with
my loneliness, in comparison with my present suffering, and the
suffering that lay before me in the future. Alas, the thoughts and
doings of living creatures are not nearly so significant as their
sufferings! And without clearly realizing what I was doing, I pulled