PART IV
4. CHAPTER IV
(continued)
It was a large but exceedingly low-pitched room, the only one let by
the Kapernaumovs, to whose rooms a closed door led in the wall on the
left. In the opposite side on the right hand wall was another door,
always kept locked. That led to the next flat, which formed a separate
lodging. Sonia's room looked like a barn; it was a very irregular
quadrangle and this gave it a grotesque appearance. A wall with three
windows looking out on to the canal ran aslant so that one corner
formed a very acute angle, and it was difficult to see in it without
very strong light. The other corner was disproportionately obtuse.
There was scarcely any furniture in the big room: in the corner on the
right was a bedstead, beside it, nearest the door, a chair. A plain,
deal table covered by a blue cloth stood against the same wall, close
to the door into the other flat. Two rush-bottom chairs stood by the
table. On the opposite wall near the acute angle stood a small plain
wooden chest of drawers looking, as it were, lost in a desert. That
was all there was in the room. The yellow, scratched and shabby wall-paper was black in the corners. It must have been damp and full of
fumes in the winter. There was every sign of poverty; even the
bedstead had no curtain.
Sonia looked in silence at her visitor, who was so attentively and
unceremoniously scrutinising her room, and even began at last to
tremble with terror, as though she was standing before her judge and
the arbiter of her destinies.
"I am late. . . . It's eleven, isn't it?" he asked, still not lifting
his eyes.
"Yes," muttered Sonia, "oh yes, it is," she added, hastily, as though
in that lay her means of escape. "My landlady's clock has just struck
. . . I heard it myself. . . ."
"I've come to you for the last time," Raskolnikov went on gloomily,
although this was the first time. "I may perhaps not see you
again . . ."
"Are you . . . going away?"
"I don't know . . . to-morrow. . . ."
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