Pyotr Stepanovitch had by now lost all faith in the suicide. “He was standing in the middle of the room, thinking,” flashed like a whirlwind through Pyotr Stepanovitch’s mind, “and the room was dark and horrible too.⁠ ⁠… He roared and rushed at me. There are two possibilities: either I interrupted him at the very second when he was pulling the trigger or⁠ ⁠… or he was standing planning how to kill me. Yes, that’s it, he was planning it.⁠ ⁠… He knows I won’t go away without killing him if he funks it himself⁠—so that he would have to kill me first to prevent my killing him.⁠ ⁠… And again, again there is silence. I am really frightened: he may open the door all of a sudden.⁠ ⁠… The nuisance of it is that he believes in God like any priest.⁠ ⁠… He won’t shoot himself for anything! There are lots of these people nowadays ‘who’ve come to it of themselves.’ A rotten lot! Oh, damn it, the candle, the candle! It’ll go out within a quarter of an hour for certain.⁠ ⁠… I must put a stop to it; come what may, I must put a stop to it.⁠ ⁠… Now I can kill him.⁠ ⁠… With that document here no one would think of my killing him. I can put him in such an attitude on the floor with an unloaded revolver in his hand that they’d be certain he’d done it himself.⁠ ⁠… Ach, damn it! how is one to kill him? If I open the door he’ll rush out again and shoot me first. Damn it all, he’ll be sure to miss!”