Again the unbearable icy shivering came over him; again he drew his coat over him.
And for a long while, for some hours, he was haunted by the impulse to "go off somewhere at once, this moment, and fling it all away, so that it may be out of sight and done with, at once, at once!" Several times he tried to rise from the sofa, but could not.
He was thoroughly waked up at last by a violent knocking at his door.
"Open, do, are you dead or alive?
He keeps sleeping here!" shouted Nastasya, banging with her fist on the door.

"For whole days together he's snoring here like a dog! A dog he is too.

Open I tell you.

It's past ten." "Maybe he's not at home," said a man's voice.
"Ha! that's the porter's voice....

What does he want ?" He jumped up and sat on the sofa.