I could not for a long while get to sleep. I had been impressed by Zina�da’s story. ‘Can there have been a hint in it?’ I asked myself: ‘and at whom and at what was she hinting? And if there really is anything to hint at � how is one to make up one’s mind? No, no, it can’t be,’ I whispered, turning over from one hot cheek on to the other� . But I remembered the expression of Zina�da’s face during her story� . I remembered the exclamation that had broken from Lushin in the Neskutchny gardens, the sudden change in her behaviour to me, and I was lost in conjectures. ‘Who is he?’ These three words seemed to stand before my eyes traced upon the darkness; a lowering malignant cloud seemed hanging over me, and I felt its oppressiveness, and waited for it to break. I had grown used to many things of late;