“Very far.”

“What is awaiting you there? Some post or career for you?”

“What God sends⁠ ⁠… only pray for me.” Raskolnikov went to the door, but she clutched him and gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her face worked with terror.

“Enough, mother,” said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting that he had come.

“Not forever, it’s not yet forever? You’ll come, you’ll come tomorrow?”

“I will, I will, goodbye.” He tore himself away at last.