Yet the
actual fact remained, and ever darker grew his despair.
Sarudine felt that he was being supported, that he was in pain, and
that his hands were blood-stained and dirty. It really surprised him to
know that he was still conscious of it all. At times, when the vehicle
turned a sharp corner, and swayed to one side, he partially opened his
eyes, and perceived, as if through tears, familiar streets, and houses,
and people, and the church. Nothing had become changed, yet all seemed
hostile, strange, and infinitely remote.
Passers-by stopped and stared. Sarudine instantly shut his eyes in
shame and despair. The drive seemed endless. "Faster! faster!" he
thought anxiously. Then, however, he pictured to himself the faces of
his man-servant, of his landlady, and of the neighbours, which made him
wish that the journey might never end. Just to drive on, drive on,
anywhere, like that, with eyes closed!
Tanaroff was horribly ashamed of this procession. Very red and
confused, he looked straight in front of him, and strove to give
onlookers the impression that he had nothing whatever to do with the
affair.
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