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"So my reason has not quite deserted me, so I still have some

sense and memory, since I guessed it of myself," he thought

triumphantly, with a deep sigh of relief; "it's simply the

weakness of fever, a moment's delirium," and he tore the whole

lining out of the left pocket of his trousers. At that instant

the sunlight fell on his left boot; on the sock which poked out

from the boot, he fancied there were traces! He flung off his

boots; "traces indeed! The tip of the sock was soaked with

blood;" he must have unwarily stepped into that pool.... "But

what am I to do with this now? Where am I to put the sock and

rags and pocket?"

He gathered them all up in his hands and stood in the middle of

the room.