His face was like a bladder--red and bloated; he had neither moustache nor beard, and altogether he looked like a woman in disguise.

Foma was told that this was her husband.

Then dark and contradicting feelings sprang up within him: he felt like insulting the architect, and at the same time he envied and respected him.

Medinskaya now seemed to him less beautiful and more accessible; he began to feel sorry for her, and yet he thought malignantly: "She must surely feel disgusted when he kisses her." And after all this he sometimes perceived in himself some bottomless and oppressive emptiness, which could not be filled up by anything--neither by the impressions of the day just gone by nor by the recollection of the past; and the Exchange, and his affairs, and his thoughts of Medinskaya--all were swallowed up by this emptiness.

It alarmed him: in the dark depth of this emptiness he suspected some hidden existence of a hostile power, as yet formless but already carefully and persistently striving to become incarnate.
In the meantime Ignat, changing but little outwardly, was growing ever more restless and querulous and was complaining more often of being ill.
"I lost my sleep.