With such thoughts I was desperately
rambling within the fence.
My vague plan was to come right after Pashinsky and knock him on
the head with something heavy,--then I rejected this project: the
scoundrel could yell and I would be discovered. I came to the quarters
and looked around. It was the office of Tanaevsky before occupied by
us. In the classic disorder, with an inch of cigarette butts and dust
on the floor, among the remnants of the Governor's House stored here,
I saw a gold metallic rope cord which in better times had been used to
support the heavy drapery of the reception room. The idea of a silent
strangulation came into my head with the picture of Jacolliot's Thugs.
I cut the tassel away and put it under somebody's pillow, and hid the
rope in my bosom.
At seven Pashinsky finally came back, surprisingly clean, shaven, and
smelling of some cheap and penetrating perfume. He was slightly drunk.
When clean,--he looked to me a thousand times worse.
Neither Pashinsky, nor I, could wait until the night came. He was
continually repeating what I should do, and continually asking me
whether I thought everything was safe. Finally night arrived. At nine
the lights in the Mansion were put out--all but in one window. I knew
how hearts were beating there: mine was echoing.
--"I am going, Syva," Pashinsky whispered. "I can't wait any
longer--all is burning inside of me.
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