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"In the stove? But they would ransack the stove first of all.

Burn them? But what can I burn them with? There are no matches

even. No, better go out and throw it all away somewhere. Yes,

better throw it away," he repeated, sitting down on the sofa

again, "and at once, this minute, without lingering..."

But his head sank on the pillow instead. Again the unbearable icy

shivering came over him; again he drew his coat over him.

And for a long while, for some hours, he was haunted by the

impulse to "go off somewhere at once, this moment, and fling it

all 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."