staring at me now with hatred and disgust; but if you want my opinion you'd better build twenty more of the houses than look like that. There's more vice in your look than in the whole street. Let's clear out, Volodya, damn him! He's a fool. He's a blockhead, and that's all he is."
"Human beings are always killing each other," said the medico. "That is immoral, of course. But philosophy won't help you. Good-bye!"
The friends parted at Trubnoi Square and went their way. Left alone, Vassiliev began to stride along the boulevard. He was frightened of the dark, frightened of the snow, which fell to the earth in little flakes, but seemed to long to cover the whole world; he was frightened of the street-lamps, which glimmered faintly through the clouds of snow. An inexplicable faint-hearted fear possessed his soul. Now and then people passed him; but he gave a start and stepped aside. It seemed to him that from everywhere there came and stared at him women, only women. . . .
"It's coming on," he thought, "I'm going to have a fit."
VI
At home he lay on his bed and began to talk, shivering all over his body.
"Live women, live. . . . My God, they're alive."
