That vast crowd on the Nevski
seemed to be a dream. I was in a world that had fallen into decay and
desolation, and I could smell rotting wood, and could fancy that frozen
blades of grass were pressing up through the very pavement stones.
Suddenly an Isvostchick stumbled along past me, down the empty street,
and the bumping rattle of the sledge on the snow woke me from my
laziness. I started off homewards. When I had gone a little way and was
approaching the bridge over the Neva some man passed me, looked back,
stopped and waited for me. When I came up to him I saw to my surprise
that it was the Rat. He had his coat-collar turned over his ears and his
dirty fur cap pulled down over his forehead. His nose was very red, and
his thin hollow cheeks a dirty yellow colour.
"Good-evening, Barin," he said, grinning.
"Good-evening," I said. "Where are you slipping off to so secretly?"
"Slipping off?" He did not seem to understand my word. I repeated it.
"Oh, I'm not slipping off," he said almost indignantly. "No, indeed. I'm
just out for a walk like your Honour, to see the town."
"What have they been doing this afternoon?" I asked.
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