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Pyotr Petrovitch gazed at him for some seconds with a pale face

that worked with anger, then he turned, went out, and rarely has

any man carried away in his heart such vindictive hatred as he

felt against Raskolnikov. Him, and him alone, he blamed for

everything. It is noteworthy that as he went downstairs he still

imagined that his case was perhaps not utterly lost, and that, so

far as the ladies were concerned, all might "very well indeed" be

set right again.

CHAPTER III