He could not stay in his bed. He quickly dressed, and till morning he was
pacing up and down his room. And, strange to say, of Clara he never thought
for a moment, and did not think of her, because he had decided to go next
day to Kazan!

He thought only of the journey, of how to manage it, and what to take with
him, and how he would investigate and find out everything there, and would
set his mind at rest. 'If I don't go,' he reasoned with himself, 'why, I
shall go out of my mind!' He was afraid of that, afraid of his nerves. He
was convinced that when once he had seen everything there with his own
eyes, every obsession would vanish like that nightmare. 'And it will be
a week lost over the journey,' he thought; 'what is a week? else I shall
never shake it off.'

The rising sun shone into his room; but the light of day did not drive
away the shadows of the night that lay upon him, and did not change his
resolution.

Platosha almost had a fit when he informed her of his intention. She
positively sat down on the ground ... her legs gave way beneath her. 'To
Kazan? why to Kazan?' she murmured, her dim eyes round with astonishment.
She would not have been more surprised if she had been told that her Yasha
was going to marry the baker woman next door, or was starting for America.
'Will you be long in Kazan?' 'I shall be back in a week,' answered Aratov,
standing with his back half-turned to his aunt, who was still sitting on
the floor.

Platonida Ivanovna tried to protest more, but Aratov answered her in an
utterly unexpected and unheard-of way: 'I'm not a child,' he shouted,
and he turned pale all over, his lips trembled, and his eyes glittered