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Raskolnikov was not used to crowds, and, as we said before, he avoided society of every sort, more especially of late. But now all at once he felt a desire to be with other people. Something newseemed to be taking place within him, and with it he felt a sort of thirst for company. He was soweary after a whole month of concentrated wretchedness and gloomy excitement that he longed torest, if only for a moment, in some other world, whatever it might be; and, in spite of the filthinessof the surroundings, he was glad now to stay in the tavern.The master of the establishment was in another room, but he frequently came down some stepsinto the main room, his jaunty, tarred boots with red turn-over tops coming into view each timebefore the rest of his person. He wore a full coat and a horribly greasy black satin waistcoat, with nocravat, and his whole face seemed smeared with oil like an iron lock. At the counter stood a boy ofabout fourteen, and there was another boy somewhat younger who handed whatever was wanted.On the counter lay some sliced cucumber, some pieces of dried black bread, and some fish, choppedup small, all smelling very bad. It was insufferably close, and so heavy with the fumes of spirits thatfive minutes in such an atmosphere might well make a man drunk

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