fling　it　from　her　hand　on　the　table　at　the　moment　when　I　had
  dashed　into　the　further　corner。
  Well！　　I　might　have　expected　that　she　would　do　that。　　Might　I
  have　expected　it？　　No；　I　was　such　an　egoist；　I　was　so　lacking　in
  respect　for　my　fellow…creatures　that　I　could　not　even　imagine　she
  would　do　so。　　I　could　not　endure　it。　　A　minute　later　I　flew　like
  a　madman　to　dress；　flinging　on　what　I　could　at　random　and　ran
  headlong　after　her。　　She　could　not　have　got　two　hundred　paces
  away　when　I　ran　out　into　the　street。
  It　was　a　still　night　and　the　snow　was　coming　down　in　masses　and
  falling　almost　perpendicularly；　covering　the　pavement　and　the
  empty　street　as　though　with　a　pillow。　　There　was　no　one　in　the
  street；　no　sound　was　to　be　heard。　　The　street　lamps　gave　a
  disconsolate　and　useless　glimmer。　　I　ran　two　hundred　paces　to　the
  cross…roads　and　stopped　short。
  Where　had　she　gone？　　And　why　was　I　running　after　her？
  Why？　　To　fall　down　before　her；　to　sob　with　remorse；　to　kiss　her
  feet；　to　entreat　her　forgiveness！　　I　longed　for　that；　my　whole
  breast　was　being　rent　to　pieces；　and　never；　never　shall　I　recall
  that　minute　with　indifference。　　Butwhat　for？　　I　thought。
  Should　I　not　begin　to　hate　her；　perhaps；　even　tomorrow；　just
  because　I　had　kissed　her　feet　today？　　Should　I　give　her
  happiness？　　Had　I　not　recognised　that　day；　for　the　hundredth
  time；　what　I　was　worth？　　Should　I　not　torture　her？
  I　stood　in　the　snow；　gazing　into　the　troubled　darkness　and
  pondered　this。
  〃And　will　it　not　be　better？〃　I　mused　fantastically；　afterwards　at
  home；　stifling　the　living　pang　of　my　heart　with　fantastic　dreams。
  〃Will　it　not　be　better　that　she　should　keep　the　resentment　of　the
  insult　for　ever？　　Resentmentwhy；　it　is　purification；　it　is　a
  most　stinging　and　painful　consciousness！　　Tomorrow　I　should　have
  defiled　her　soul　and　have　exhausted　her　heart；　while　now　the
  feeling　of　insult　will　never　die　in　her　heart；　and　however
  loathsome　the　filth　awaiting　herthe　feeling　of　insult　will
  elevate　and　purify　her。。。by　hatred。。。h'm！。。。perhaps；　too；　by
  forgiveness。。。。　Will　all　that　make　things　easier　for　her　though？
  。。。〃
  And；　indeed；　I　will　ask　on　my　own　account　here；　an　idle　question：
  which　is　bettercheap　happiness　or　exalted　sufferings？　　Well；
  which　is　better？
  So　I　dreamed　as　I　sat　at　home　that　evening；　almost　dead　with　the
  pain　in　my　soul。　　Never　had　I　endured　such　suffering　and　remorse；
  yet　could　there　have　been　the　faintest　doubt　when　I　ran　out　from
  my　lodging　that　I　should　turn　back　half…way？　　I　never　met　Liza
  again　and　I　have　heard　nothing　of　her。　　I　will　add；　too；　that　I
  remained　for　a　long　time　afterwards　pleased　with　the　phrase　about
  the　benefit　from　resentment　and　hatred　in　spite　of　the　fact　that
  I　almost　fell　ill　from　misery。
  。　　　　　　。　　　　　　。　　　　　　。　　　　　　。
  Even　now；　so　many　years　later；　all　this　is　somehow　a　very　evil
  memory。　　I　have　many　evil　memories　now；　but。。。hadn't　I　better　end
  my　〃Notes〃　here？　　I　believe　I　made　a　mistake　in　beginning　to
  write　them；　anyway　I　have　felt　ashamed　all　the　time　I've　been
  writing　this　story；　so　it's　hardly　literature　so　much　as　a
  corrective　punishment。　　Why；　to　tell　long　stories；　showing　how　I
  have　spoiled　my　life　through　morally　rotting　in　my　corner；
  through　lack　of　fitting　environment；　through　divorce　from　real
  life；　and　rankling　spite　in　my　underground　world；　would　certainly
  not　be　interesting；　a　novel　needs　a　hero；　and　all　the　traits　for
  an　anti…hero　are　_expressly_　gathered　together　here；　and　what
  matters　most；　it　all　produces　an　unpleasant　impression；　for　we
  are　all　divorced　from　life；　we　are　all　cripples；　every　one　of　us；
  more　or　less。　　We　are　so　divorced　from　it　that　we　feel　at　once　a
  sort　of　loathing　for　real　life；　and　so　cannot　bear　to　be　reminded
  of　it。　　Why；　we　have　come　almost　to　looking　upon　real　life　as　an
  effort；　almost　as　hard　work；　and　we　are　all　privately　agreed　that
  it　is　better　in　books。　　And　why　do　we　fuss　and　fume　sometimes？
  Why　are　we　perverse　and　ask　for　something　else？　　We　don't　know
  what　ourselves。　　It　would　be　the　worse　for　us　if　our　petulant
  prayers　were　answered。　　Come；　try；　give　any　one　of　us；　for
  instance；　a　little　more　independence；　untie　our　hands；　widen　the
  spheres　of　our　activity；　relax　the　control　and　we。。。yes；　I　assure
  you。。。we　should　be　begging　to　be　under　control　again　at　once。　　I
  know　that　you　will　very　likely　be　angry　with　me　for　that；　and
  will　begin　shouting　and　stamping。　　Speak　for　yourself；　you　will
  say；　and　for　your　miseries　in　your　underground　holes；　and　don't
  dare　to　say　all　of　usexcuse　me；　gentlemen；　I　am　not　justifying
  myself　with　that　〃all　of　us。〃　　As　for　what　concerns　me　in
  particular　I　have　only　in　my　life　carried　to　an　extreme　what　you
  have　not　dared　to　carry　halfway；　and　what's　more；　you　have　taken
  your　cowardice　for　good　sense；　and　have　found　comfort　in
  deceiving　yourselves。　　So　that　perhaps；　after　all；　there　is　more
  life　in　me　than　in　you。　　Look　into　it　more　carefully！　　Why；　we
  don't　even　know　what　living　means　now；　what　it　is；　and　what　it　is
  called？　　Leave　us　alone　without　books　and　we　shall　be　lost　and　in
  confusion　at　once。　　We　shall　not　know　what　to　join　on　to；　what　to
  cling　to；　what　to　love　and　what　to　hate；　what　to　respect　and　what
  to　despise。　　We　are　oppressed　at　being　menmen　with　a　real
  individual　body　and　blood；　we　are　ashamed　of　it；　we　think　it　a
  disgrace　and　try　to　contrive　to　be　some　sort　of　impossible
  generalised　man。　　We　are　stillborn；　and　for　generations　past　have
  been　begotten；　not　by　living　fathers；　and　that　suits　us　better
  and　better。　　We　are　developing　a　taste　for　it。　　Soon　we　shall
  contrive　to　be　born　somehow　from　an　idea。　　But　enough；　I　don't
  want　to　write　more　from　〃Underground〃。。。
  ＇The　notes　of　this　paradoxalist　do　not　end　here；　however。　　He
  could　not　refrain　from　going　on　with　them；　but　it　seems　to　us
  that　we　may　stop　here。＇
  End