Page 895 - the-idiot

fore be started for Rogojin’s once more. He sat down, rested
his elbows on the table and his head on his hands, and fell
to thinking.
Heaven knows how long and upon what subjects he
thought. He thought of many things—of Vera Lebedeff, and
of her father; of Hippolyte; of Rogojin himself, first at the
funeral, then as he had met him in the park, then, suddenly,
as they had met in this very passage, outside, when Rogojin
had watched in the darkness and awaited him with uplifted
knife. The prince remembered his enemy’s eyes as they had
glared at him in the darkness. He shuddered, as a sudden
idea struck him.
This idea was, that if Rogojin were in Petersburg, though
he might hide for a time, yet he was quite sure to come to
him—the prince—before long, with either good or evil in-
tentions, but probably with the same intention as on that
other occasion. At all events, if Rogojin were to come at all
he would be sure to seek the prince here—he had no other
town address—perhaps in this same corridor; he might well
seek him here if he needed him. And perhaps he did need
him. This idea seemed quite natural to the prince, though
he could not have explained why he should so suddenly
have become necessary to Rogojin. Rogojin would not come
if all were well with him, that was part of the thought; he
would come if all were not well; and certainly, undoubtedly,
all would not be well with him. The prince could not bear
this new idea; he took his hat and rushed out towards the
street. It was almost dark in the passage.
‘What if he were to come out of that corner as I go by

The Idiot