He did not know and did not think where he was going, he had one thought only: "that all _this_ must be ended to-day, once for all, immediately; that he would not return home without it, because he _would not go on living like that_." How, with what to make an end?
He had not an idea about it, he did not even want to think of it.

He drove away thought; thought tortured him.

All he knew, all he felt was that everything must be changed "one way or another," he repeated with desperate and immovable self-confidence and determination.
From old habit he took his usual walk in the direction of the Hay Market.

A dark-haired young man with a barrel organ was standing in the road in front of a little general shop and was grinding out a very sentimental song.

He was accompanying a girl of fifteen, who stood on the pavement in front of him.