XXI
Some one's hand lay on my shoulder and pushed it several times.... I opene d my eyes and in the faint light of the solitary candle, I saw Fustov standing before me. He frightened me. He was staggering; his face was yellow, almost the same colour as his hair; his lips seemed hanging down, his muddy eyes were staring senselessly away. What had become of his invariably amiable, sympathetic expression? I had a cousin who from epilepsy was sinking into idiocy.... Fustov looked like him at that moment.
I sat up hurriedly. 'What is it? What is the matter? Heavens!' He made no answer. 'Why, what has happened? Fustov! Do speak! Susanna?...' Fustov gave a slight start. 'She...' he began in a hoarse voice, and broke off. 'What of her? Have you seen her?' He stared at me. 'She's no more.' 'No m
