There followed a moment of terrible, dumb struggle in the heart of Svidriga�lov. He looked at her with an indescribable gaze. Suddenly he withdrew his arm, turned quickly to the window and stood facing it. Another moment passed.

“Here’s the key.”

He took it out of the left pocket of his coat and laid it on the table behind him, without turning or looking at Dounia.

“Take it! Make haste!”

He looked stubbornly out of the window. Dounia went up to the table to take the key.

“Make haste! Make haste!” repeated Svidriga�lov, still without turning or moving. But there seemed a terrible significance in the tone of that “make haste.”