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Chapter 1

           Thisevening,however,oncomingoutintothestreet,hebecameacutelyawareofhisfears.

           “Iwanttoattemptathinglikethatandamfrightenedbythesetrifles,”hethought,withanoddsmile.“Hm...yes,allisinaman’shandsandheletsitallslipfromcowardice,that’sanaxiom.Itwouldbeinterestingtoknowwhatitismenaremostafraidof.Takinganewstep,utteringanewwordiswhattheyfearmost....ButIamtalkingtoomuch.It’sbecauseIchatterthatIdonothing.OrperhapsitisthatIchatterbecauseIdonothing.I’velearnedtochatterthislastmonth,lyingfordaystogetherinmydenthinking...ofJacktheGiant-killer.WhyamIgoingtherenow?AmIcapableofthat?Isthatserious?Itisnotseriousatall.It’ssimplyafantasytoamusemyself;aplaything!Yes,maybeitisaplaything.”

           Theheatinthestreetwasterrible:andtheairlessness,thebustleandtheplaster,scaffolding,bricks,anddustallabouthim,andthatspecialPetersburgstench,sofamiliartoallwhoareunabletogetoutoftowninsummerallworkedpainfullyupontheyoungman’salreadyoverwroughtnerves.Theinsufferablestenchfromthepot-houses,whichareparticularlynumerousinthatpartofthetown,andthedrunkenmenwhomhemetcontinually,althoughitwasaworkingday,completedtherevoltingmiseryofthepicture.Anexpressionoftheprofoundestdisgustgleamedforamomentintheyoungman’srefinedface.

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