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It was about nine o'clock when he crossed the Hay Market. At the

tables and the barrows, at the booths and the shops, all the

market people were closing their establishments or clearing away

and packing up their wares and, like their customers, were going

home. Rag pickers and costermongers of all kinds were crowding

round the taverns in the dirty and stinking courtyards of the Hay

Market. Raskolnikov particularly liked this place and the

neighbouring alleys, when he wandered aimlessly in the streets.

Here his rags did not attract contemptuous attention, and one

could walk about in any attire without scandalising people. At

the corner of an alley a huckster and his wife had two tables set

out with tapes, thread, cotton handkerchiefs, etc. They, too, had

got up to go home, but were lingering in conversation with a

friend, who had just come up to them.