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He closed his hand on the twenty copecks, walked on for ten

paces, and turned facing the Neva, looking towards the palace.

The sky was without a cloud and the water was almost bright blue,

which is so rare in the Neva. The cupola of the cathedral, which

is seen at its best from the bridge about twenty paces from the

chapel, glittered in the sunlight, and in the pure air every

ornament on it could be clearly distinguished. The pain from the

lash went off, and Raskolnikov forgot about it; one uneasy and

not quite definite idea occupied him now completely. He stood

still, and gazed long and intently into the distance; this spot

was especially familiar to him. When he was attending the

university, he had hundreds of times--generally on his way

home--stood still on this spot, gazed at this truly magnificent

spectacle and almost always marvelled at a vague and mysterious

emotion it roused in him. It left him strangely cold; this

gorgeous picture was for him blank and lifeless.