Buttherewerethousandsofsuchgreatpointstoconsider，andtheyallagitatedandoverwhelmedme。Ipolishedmybootsasecondtimewithmyownhands;nothingintheworldwouldhaveinducedApollontocleanthemtwiceaday，asheconsideredthatitwasmorethanhisdutiesrequiredofhim。Istolethebrushestocleanthemfromthepassage，beingcarefulheshouldnotdetectit，forfearofhiscontempt。ThenIminutelyexaminedmyclothesandthoughtthateverythinglookedold，wornandthreadbare。Ihadletmyselfgettooslovenly。Myuniform，perhaps，wastidy，butIcouldnotgoouttodinnerinmyuniform。Theworstofitwasthatonthekneeofmytrouserswasabigyellowstain。Ihadaforebodingthatthatstainwoulddeprivemeofnine-tenthsofmypersonaldignity。Iknew，too，thatitwasverypoortothinkso。\"Butthisisnotimeforthinking：nowIaminfortherealthing，\"Ithought，andmyheartsank。Iknew，too，perfectlywelleventhen，thatIwasmonstrouslyexaggeratingthefacts。ButhowcouldIhelpit？I
couldnotcontrolmyselfandwasalreadyshakingwithfever。
WithdespairIpicturedtomyselfhowcoldlyanddisdainfullythat\"scoundrel\"Zverkovwouldmeetme;withwhatdull-witted，invinciblecontempttheblockheadTrudolyubovwouldlookatme;
withwhatimpudentrudenesstheinsectFerfitchkinwouldsniggeratmeinordertocurryfavourwithZverkov;howcompletelySimonovwouldtakeitallin，andhowhewoulddespisemefortheabjectnessofmyvanityandlackofspirit——and，worstofall，howpaltry，_unliterary_，commonplaceitwouldallbe。Ofcourse，thebestthingwouldbenottogoatall。Butthatwasmostimpossibleofall：ifIfeelimpelledtodoanything，Iseemtobepitchforkedintoit。Ishouldhavejeeredatmyselfeverafterwards：\"Soyoufunkedit，youfunkedit，youfunkedthe_realthing_！\"Onthecontrary，Ipassionatelylongedtoshowallthat\"rabble\"thatIwasbynomeanssuchaspiritlesscreatureasIseemedtomyself。Whatismore，evenintheacutestparoxysmofthiscowardlyfever，Idreamedofgettingtheupperhand，ofdominatingthem，carryingthemaway，makingthemlikeme——ifonlyformy\"elevationofthoughtandunmistakablewit。\"TheywouldabandonZverkov，hewouldsitononeside，silentandashamed，whileIshouldcrushhim。Then，perhaps，wewouldbereconciledanddrinktooureverlastingfriendship;butwhatwasmostbitterandhumiliatingformewasthatIkneweventhen，knewfullyandforcertain，thatIneedednothingofallthisreally，thatIdidnotreallywanttocrush，tosubdue，toattractthem，andthatIdidnotcareastrawreallyfortheresult，evenifIdidachieveit。Oh，howIprayedforthedaytopassquickly！InunutterableanguishIwenttothewindow，openedthemovablepaneandlookedoutintothetroubleddarknessofthethicklyfallingwetsnow。Atlastmywretchedlittleclockhissedoutfive。Iseizedmyhatand，tryingnottolookatApollon，whohadbeenalldayexpectinghismonth’swages，butinhisfoolishnesswasunwillingtobethefirsttospeakaboutit，Islippedbetweenhimandthedoorand，lumpingintoahigh-classsledge，onwhichIspentmylasthalfrouble，IdroveupingrandstyletotheHoteldeParis。
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