g with terror.

Pyotr Stepanovitch, of course, had treated them badly; it might all have
gone off far more harmoniously and easily if he had taken the trouble
to embellish the facts ever so little. Instead of putting the facts in a
decorous light, as an exploit worthy of ancient Rome or something of the
sort, he simply appealed to their animal fears and laid stress on the
danger to their own skins, which was simply insulting; of course there
was a struggle for existence in everything and there was no other
principle in nature, they all knew that, but still...

But Pyotr Stepanovitch had no time to trot out the Romans; he was
completely thrown out of his reckoning. Stavrogin's flight had astounded
and crushed him. It was a lie when he said that Stavrogin had seen the
vice-governor; what worried Pyotr Stepanovitch was that Stavrogin had
gone off without seeing anyone, even his mother--and it was certainly
strange that he had been allowed to leave without hindrance.
(The authorities were called to account for it afterwards.) Pyotr
Stepanovitch had been making inquiries all day, but so far had found out
nothing, and he had never been so upset. And how could he, how could he
give up Stavrogin all at once like this! That was why he could not
be very tender with the quintet. Besides, they tied his hands: he had
already decided to gallop after Stavrogin at once; and meanwhile he was
detained by Shatov; he had to cement the quintet together once for all,
in case of emergency. "Pity to waste them, they might be of use." That,
I imagine, was his way of reasoning.

As for Shatov, Pyotr Stepanovitch was firmly convinced that he would
betray them. All that he had told the others about it was a lie: he had
never seen the document nor heard of it, but he thought it as certain as
that twice two makes four. It seemed to him that what had happened--the
death of Liza, the death of Marya Timofyevna--would be too much for
Shatov, and that he would make up his mind at once. Who knows? perhaps
he had grounds for supposing it. It is known, too, that he hated Shatov
personally; there had at some time been a quarrel between them, and
Pyotr Stepanovitch never forgave an offence. I am convinced, indeed,
that this was his leading motive.

We have narrow brick pavements in our town, and in some streets only
raised wooden planks instead of a pavement. Pyotr Stepanovitch walked
in the middle of the pavement, taking up the whole of it, utterly
regar