Thiswasagentlemannolongeryoung，ofastiffandportlyappearance，andacautiousandsourcountenance。Hebeganbystoppingshortinthedoorway，staringabouthimwithoffensiveandundisguisedastonishment，asthoughaskinghimselfwhatsortofplacehehadcometo。Mistrustfullyandwithanaffectationofbeingalarmedandalmostaffronted，hescannedRaskolnikov’slowandnarrow“cabin。”WiththesameamazementhestaredatRaskolnikov，wholayundressed，dishevelled，unwashed，onhismiserabledirtysofa，lookingfixedlyathim。Thenwiththesamedeliberationhescrutinisedtheuncouth，unkemptfigureandunshavenfaceofRazumihin，wholookedhimboldlyandinquiringlyinthefacewithoutrisingfromhisseat。Aconstrainedsilencelastedforacoupleofminutes，andthen，asmightbeexpected，somescene-shiftingtookplace。Reflecting，probablyfromcertainfairlyunmistakablesigns，thathewouldgetnothinginthis“cabin”byattemptingtooverawethem，thegentlemansoftenedsomewhat，andcivilly，thoughwithsomeseverity，emphasisingeverysyllableofhisquestion，addressedZossimov:
　　“RodionRomanovitchRaskolnikov，astudent，orformerlyastudent？”
　　Zossimovmadeaslightmovement，andwouldhaveanswered，hadnotRazumihinanticipatedhim。
　　“Hereheislyingonthesofa！Whatdoyouwant？”
　　Thisfamiliar“whatdoyouwant”seemedtocutthegroundfromthefeetofthepompousgentleman。HewasturningtoRazumihin，butcheckedhimselfintimeandturnedtoZossimovagain。
　　“ThisisRaskolnikov，”mumbledZossimov，noddingtowardshim。Thenhegaveaprolongedyawn，openinghismouthaswideaspossible。Thenhelazilyputhishandintohiswaistcoat-pocket，pulledoutahugegoldwatchinaroundhunter’scase，openedit，lookedatitandasslowlyandlazilyproceededtoputitback。
　　Raskolnikovhimselflaywithoutspeaking，onhisback，gazingpersistently，thoughwithoutunderstanding，atthestranger。Nowthathisfacewasturnedawayfromthestrangefloweronthepaper，itwasextremelypaleandworealookofanguish，asthoughhehadjustundergoneanagonisingoperationorjustbeentakenfromtherack。Butthenew-comergraduallybegantoarousehisattention，thenhiswonder，thensuspicionandevenalarm。WhenZossimovsaid“ThisisRaskolnikov”hejumpedupquickly，satonthesofaandwithanalmostdefiant，butweakandbreaking，voicearticulated:
　　“Yes，IamRaskolnikov！Whatdoyouwant？”
　　Thevisitorscrutinisedhimandpronouncedimpressively:
　　“PyotrPetrovitchLuzhin。IbelieveIhavereasontohopethatmynameisnotwhollyunknowntoyou？”
　　ButRaskolnikov，whohadexpectedsomethingquitedifferent，gazedblanklyanddreamilyathim，makingnoreply，asthoughheheardthenameofPyotrPetrovitchforthefirsttime。
　　“Isitpossiblethatyoucanuptothepresenthavereceivednoinformation？”askedPyotrPetrovitch，somewhatdisconcerted。
　　InreplyRaskolnikovsanklanguidlybackonthepillow，puthishandsbehindhisheadandgazedattheceiling。AlookofdismaycameintoLuzhin’sface。ZossimovandRazumihinstaredathimmoreinquisitivelythanever，andatlastheshowedunmistakablesignsofembarrassment。
　　“Ihadpresumedandcalculated，”hefaltered，“thataletterpostedmorethantendays，ifnotafortnightago…”
　　“Isay，whyareyoustandinginthedoorway？”Razumihininterruptedsuddenly。“Ifyou’vesomethingtosay，sitdown。Nastasyaandyouaresocrowded。Nastasya，makeroom。Here’sachair，threadyourwayin！”
　　Hemovedhischairbackfromthetable，madealittlespacebetweenthetableandhisknees，andwaitedinarathercrampedpositionforthevisitorto“threadhiswayin。”Theminutewassochosenthatitwasimpossibletorefuse，andthevisitorsqueezedhiswaythrough，hurryingandstumbling。Reachingthechair，hesatdown，lookingsuspiciouslyatRazumihin。
　　“Noneedtobenervous，”thelatterblurtedout。“Rodyahasbeenillforthelastfivedaysanddeliriousforthree，butnowheisrecoveringandhasgotanappetite。Thisishisdoctor，whohasjusthadalookathim。IamacomradeofRodya’s，likehim，formerlyastudent，andnowIamnursinghim；sodon’tyoutakeanynoticeofus，butgoonwithyourbusiness。”
　　“Thankyou。ButshallInotdisturbtheinvalidbymypresenceandconversation？”PyotrPetrovitchaskedofZossimov。
　　“N-no，”mumbledZossimov；“youmayamusehim。”Heyawnedagain。
　　“Hehasbeenconsciousalongtime，sincethemorning，”wentonRazumihin，whosefamiliarityseemedsomuchlikeunaffectedgood-naturethatPyotrPetrovitchbegantobemorecheerful，partly，perhaps，becausethisshabbyandimpudentpersonhadintroducedhimselfasastudent。
　　“Yourmamma，”beganLuzhin。
　　“Hm！”Razumihinclearedhisthroatloudly。Luzhinlookedathiminquiringly。
　　“That’sallright，goon。”
　　Luzhinshruggedhisshoulders。
　　“YourmammahadcommencedalettertoyouwhileIwassojourninginherneighbourhood。OnmyarrivalhereIpurposelyallowedafewdaystoelapsebeforecomingtoseeyou，inorderthatImightbefullyassuredthatyouwereinfullpossessionofthetidings；butnow，tomyastonishment…”
　　“Iknow，Iknow！”Raskolnikovcriedsuddenlywithimpatientvexation。“Soyouarethefiance？Iknow，andthat’senough！”
　　TherewasnodoubtaboutPyotrPetrovitch’sbeingoffendedthistime，buthesaidnothing。Hemadeaviolentefforttounderstandwhatitallmeant。Therewasamoment’ssilence。
　　MeanwhileRaskolnikov，whohadturnedalittletowardshimwhenheanswered，begansuddenlystaringathimagainwithmarkedcuriosity，asthoughhehadnothadagoodlookathimyet，orasthoughsomethingnewhadstruckhim；herosefromhispillowonpurposetostareathim。TherecertainlywassomethingpeculiarinPyotrPetrovitch’swholeappearance，somethingwhichseemedtojustifythetitleof“fiance”sounceremoniouslyappliedtohim。Inthefirstplace，itwasevident，fartoomuchsoindeed，thatPyotrPetrovitchhadmadeeageruseofhisfewdaysinthecapitaltogethimselfupandrighimselfoutinexpectationofhisbetrothed—aperfectlyinnocentandpermissibleproceeding，indeed。Evenhisown，perhapstoocomplacent，consciousnessoftheagreeableimprovementinhisappearancemighthavebeenforgiveninsuchcircumstances，seeingthatPyotrPetrovitchhadtakenuptheroleoffiance。Allhisclotheswerefreshfromthetailor’sandwereallright，exceptforbeingtoonewandtoodistinctlyappropriate。Eventhestylishnewroundhathadthesamesignificance。PyotrPetrovitchtreatedittoorespectfullyandheldittoocarefullyinhishands。Theexquisitepairoflavendergloves，realLouvain，toldthesametale，ifonlyfromthefactofhisnotwearingthem，butcarryingtheminhishandforshow。LightandyouthfulcolourspredominatedinPyotrPetrovitch’sattire。Heworeacharmingsummerjacketofafawnshade，lightthintrousers，awaistcoatofthesame，newandfinelinen，acravatofthelightestcambricwithpinkstripesonit，andthebestofitwas，thisallsuitedPyotrPetrovitch。Hisveryfreshandevenhandsomefacelookedyoungerthanhisforty-fiveyearsatalltimes。Hisdark，mutton-chopwhiskersmadeanagreeablesettingonbothsides，growingthicklyuponhisshining，clean-shavenchin。Evenhishair，touchedhereandtherewithgrey，thoughithadbeencombedandcurledatahairdresser’s，didnotgivehimastupidappearance，ascurledhairusuallydoes，byinevitablysuggestingaGermanonhiswedding-day。Iftherereallywassomethingunpleasingandrepulsiveinhisrathergood-lookingandimposingcountenance，itwasduetoquiteothercauses。AfterscanningMr。Luzhinunceremoniously，Raskolnikovsmiledmalignantly，sankbackonthepillowandstaredattheceilingasbefore。
　　ButMr。Luzhinhardenedhisheartandseemedtodeterminetotakenonoticeoftheiroddities。
　　“Ifeelthegreatestregretatfindingyouinthissituation，”hebegan，againbreakingthesilencewithaneffort。“IfIhadbeenawareofyourillnessIshouldhavecomeearlier。Butyouknowwhatbusinessis。Ihave，too，averyimportantlegalaffairintheSenate，nottomentionotherpreoccupationswhichyoumaywellconjecture。Iamexpectingyourmammaandsisteranyminute。”
　　Raskolnikovmadeamovementandseemedabouttospeak；hisfaceshowedsomeexcitement。PyotrPetrovitchpaused，waited，butasnothingfollowed，hewenton:
　　“…Anyminute。Ihavefoundalodgingforthemontheirarrival。”
　　“Where？”askedRaskolnikovweakly。
　　“Verynearhere，inBakaleyev’shouse。”
　　“That’sinVoskresensky，”putinRazumihin。“Therearetwostoreysofrooms，letbyamerchantcalledYushin；I’vebeenthere。”
　　“Yes，rooms…”
　　“Adisgustingplace—filthy，stinkingand，what’smore，ofdoubtfulcharacter。Thingshavehappenedthere，andthereareallsortsofqueerpeoplelivingthere。AndIwentthereaboutascandalousbusiness。It’scheap，though…”
　　“Icouldnot，ofcourse，findoutsomuchaboutit，forIamastrangerinPetersburgmyself，”PyotrPetrovitchrepliedhuffily。“However，thetworoomsareexceedinglyclean，andasitisforsoshortatime…Ihavealreadytakenapermanent，thatis，ourfutureflat，”hesaid，addressingRaskolnikov，“andIamhavingitdoneup。AndmeanwhileIammyselfcrampedforroominalodgingwithmyfriendAndreySemyonovitchLebeziatnikov，intheflatofMadameLippevechsel；itwashewhotoldmeofBakaleyev’shouse，too…”
　　“Lebeziatnikov？”saidRaskolnikovslowly，asifrecallingsomething。
　　“Yes，AndreySemyonovitchLebeziatnikov，aclerkintheMinistry。Doyouknowhim？”
　　“Yes…no，”Raskolnikovanswered。
　　“Excuseme，Ifanciedsofromyourinquiry。Iwasoncehisguardian。…Averyniceyoungmanandadvanced。Iliketomeetyoungpeople:onelearnsnewthingsfromthem。”Luzhinlookedroundhopefullyatthemall。
　　“Howdoyoumean？”askedRazumihin。
　　“Inthemostseriousandessentialmatters，”PyotrPetrovitchreplied，asthoughdelightedatthequestion。“Yousee，it’stenyearssinceIvisitedPetersburg。Allthenovelties，reforms，ideashavereachedusintheprovinces，buttoseeitallmoreclearlyonemustbeinPetersburg。Andit’smynotionthatyouobserveandlearnmostbywatchingtheyoungergeneration。AndIconfessIamdelighted…”
　　“Atwhat？”
　　“Yourquestionisawideone。Imaybemistaken，butIfancyIfindclearerviews，more，sotosay，criticism，morepracticality…”
　　“That’strue，”Zossimovletdrop。
　　“Nonsense！There’snopracticality。”Razumihinflewathim。“Practicalityisadifficultthingtofind；itdoesnotdropdownfromheaven。Andforthelasttwohundredyearswehavebeendivorcedfromallpracticallife。Ideas，ifyoulike，arefermenting，”hesaidtoPyotrPetrovitch，“anddesireforgoodexists，thoughit’sinachildishform，andhonestyyoumayfind，althoughtherearecrowdsofbrigands。Anyway，there’snopracticality。Practicalitygoeswellshod。”
　　“Idon’tagreewithyou，”PyotrPetrovitchreplied，withevidentenjoyment。“Ofcourse，peopledogetcarriedawayandmakemistakes，butonemusthaveindulgence；thosemistakesaremerelyevidenceofenthusiasmforthecauseandofabnormalexternalenvironment。Iflittlehasbeendone，thetimehasbeenbutshort；ofmeansIwillnotspeak。It’smypersonalview，ifyoucaretoknow，thatsomethinghasbeenaccomplishedalready。Newvaluableideas，newvaluableworksarecirculatingintheplaceofourolddreamyandromanticauthors。Literatureistakingamaturerform，manyinjuriousprejudicehavebeenrootedupandturnedintoridicule。…Inaword，wehavecutourselvesoffirrevocablyfromthepast，andthat，tomythinking，isagreatthing…”
　　“He’slearntitbyhearttoshowoff！”Raskolnikovpronouncedsuddenly。
　　“What？”askedPyotrPetrovitch，notcatchinghiswords；buthereceivednoreply。
　　“That’salltrue，”Zossimovhastenedtointerpose。
　　“Isn’titso？”PyotrPetrovitchwenton，glancingaffablyatZossimov。“Youmustadmit，”hewenton，addressingRazumihinwithashadeoftriumphandsuperciliousness—healmostadded“youngman”—“thatthereisanadvance，or，astheysaynow，progressinthenameofscienceandeconomictruth…”
　　“Acommonplace。”
　　“No，notacommonplace！Hitherto，forinstance，ifIweretold，‘lovethyneighbour，’whatcameofit？”PyotrPetrovitchwenton，perhapswithexcessivehaste。“Itcametomytearingmycoatinhalftosharewithmyneighbourandwebothwerelefthalfnaked。AsaRussianproverbhasit，‘Catchseveralharesandyouwon’tcatchone。’Sciencenowtellsus，loveyourselfbeforeallmen，foreverythingintheworldrestsonself-interest。Youloveyourselfandmanageyourownaffairsproperlyandyourcoatremainswhole。Economictruthaddsthatthebetterprivateaffairsareorganisedinsociety—themorewholecoats，sotosay—thefirmerareitsfoundationsandthebetteristhecommonwelfareorganisedtoo。Therefore，inacquiringwealthsolelyandexclusivelyformyself，Iamacquiring，sotospeak，forall，andhelpingtobringtopassmyneighbour’sgettingalittlemorethanatorncoat；andthatnotfromprivate，personalliberality，butasaconsequenceofthegeneraladvance。Theideaissimple，butunhappilyithasbeenalongtimereachingus，beinghinderedbyidealismandsentimentality。Andyetitwouldseemtowantverylittlewittoperceiveit…”
　　“Excuseme，I’veverylittlewitmyself，”Razumihincutinsharply，“andsoletusdropit。Ibeganthisdiscussionwithanobject，butI’vegrownsosickduringthelastthreeyearsofthischatteringtoamuseoneself，ofthisincessantflowofcommonplaces，alwaysthesame，that，byJove，Iblushevenwhenotherpeopletalklikethat。Youareinahurry，nodoubt，toexhibityouracquirements；andIdon’tblameyou，that’squitepardonable。Ionlywantedtofindoutwhatsortofmanyouare，forsomanyunscrupulouspeoplehavegotholdoftheprogressivecauseoflateandhavesodistortedintheirowninterestseverythingtheytouched，thatthewholecausehasbeendraggedinthemire。That’senough！”
　　“Excuseme，sir，”saidLuzhin，affronted，andspeakingwithexcessivedignity。“DoyoumeantosuggestsounceremoniouslythatItoo…”
　　“Oh，mydearsir…howcouldI？…Come，that’senough，”Razumihinconcluded，andheturnedabruptlytoZossimovtocontinuetheirpreviousconversation。
　　PyotrPetrovitchhadthegoodsensetoacceptthedisavowal。Hemadeuphismindtotakeleaveinanotherminuteortwo。
　　“Itrustouracquaintance，”hesaid，addressingRaskolnikov，“may，uponyourrecoveryandinviewofthecircumstancesofwhichyouareaware，becomecloser…Aboveall，Ihopeforyourreturntohealth…”
　　Raskolnikovdidnoteventurnhishead。PyotrPetrovitchbegangettingupfromhischair。
　　“Oneofhercustomersmusthavekilledher，”Zossimovdeclaredpositively。
　　“Notadoubtofit，”repliedRazumihin。“Porfirydoesn’tgivehisopinion，butisexaminingallwhohaveleftpledgeswithherthere。”
　　“Examiningthem？”Raskolnikovaskedaloud。
　　“Yes。Whatthen？”
　　“Nothing。”
　　“Howdoeshegetholdofthem？”askedZossimov。
　　“Kochhasgiventhenamesofsomeofthem，othernamesareonthewrappersofthepledgesandsomehavecomeforwardofthemselves。”
　　“Itmusthavebeenacunningandpractisedruffian！Theboldnessofit！Thecoolness！”
　　“That’sjustwhatitwasn’t！”interposedRazumihin。“That’swhatthrowsyoualloffthescent。ButImaintainthatheisnotcunning，notpractised，andprobablythiswashisfirstcrime！Thesuppositionthatitwasacalculatedcrimeandacunningcriminaldoesn’twork。Supposehimtohavebeeninexperienced，andit’sclearthatitwasonlyachancethatsavedhim—andchancemaydoanything。Why，hedidnotforeseeobstacles，perhaps！Andhowdidhesettowork？Hetookjewelsworthtenortwentyroubles，stuffinghispocketswiththem，ransackedtheoldwoman’strunks，herrags—andtheyfoundfifteenhundredroubles，besidesnotes，inaboxinthetopdrawerofthechest！Hedidnotknowhowtorob；hecouldonlymurder。Itwashisfirstcrime，Iassureyou，hisfirstcrime；helosthishead。Andhegotoffmorebyluckthangoodcounsel！”
　　“Youaretalkingofthemurderoftheoldpawnbroker，Ibelieve？”PyotrPetrovitchputin，addressingZossimov。Hewasstanding，hatandglovesinhand，butbeforedepartinghefeltdisposedtothrowoffafewmoreintellectualphrases。Hewasevidentlyanxioustomakeafavourableimpressionandhisvanityovercamehisprudence。
　　“Yes。You’veheardofit？”
　　“Oh，yes，beingintheneighbourhood。”
　　“Doyouknowthedetails？”
　　“Ican’tsaythat；butanothercircumstanceinterestsmeinthecase—thewholequestion，sotosay。Nottospeakofthefactthatcrimehasbeengreatlyontheincreaseamongthelowerclassesduringthelastfiveyears，nottospeakofthecasesofrobberyandarsoneverywhere，whatstrikesmeasthestrangestthingisthatinthehigherclasses，too，crimeisincreasingproportionately。Inoneplaceonehearsofastudent’srobbingthemailonthehighroad；inanotherplacepeopleofgoodsocialpositionforgefalsebanknotes；inMoscowoflateawholeganghasbeencapturedwhousedtoforgelotterytickets，andoneoftheringleaderswasalecturerinuniversalhistory；thenoursecretaryabroadwasmurderedfromsomeobscuremotiveofgain。…Andifthisoldwoman，thepawnbroker，hasbeenmurderedbysomeoneofahigherclassinsociety—forpeasantsdon’tpawngoldtrinkets—howarewetoexplainthisdemoralisationofthecivilisedpartofoursociety？”
　　“Therearemanyeconomicchanges，”putinZossimov。
　　“Howarewetoexplainit？”Razumihincaughthimup。“Itmightbeexplainedbyourinveterateimpracticality。”
　　“Howdoyoumean？”
　　“WhatanswerhadyourlecturerinMoscowtomaketothequestionwhyhewasforgingnotes？‘Everybodyisgettingrichonewayoranother，soIwanttomakehastetogetrichtoo。’Idon’tremembertheexactwords，buttheupshotwasthathewantsmoneyfornothing，withoutwaitingorworking！We’vegrownusedtohavingeverythingready-made，towalkingoncrutches，tohavingourfoodchewedforus。Thenthegreathourstruck，1andeverymanshowedhimselfinhistruecolours。”
　　“Butmorality？Andsotospeak，principles…”
　　“Butwhydoyouworryaboutit？”Raskolnikovinterposedsuddenly。“It’sinaccordancewithyourtheory！”
　　“Inaccordancewithmytheory？”
　　“Why，carryoutlogicallythetheoryyouwereadvocatingjustnow，anditfollowsthatpeoplemaybekilled…”
　　“Uponmyword！”criedLuzhin。
　　“No，that’snotso，”putinZossimov。
　　Raskolnikovlaywithawhitefaceandtwitchingupperlip，breathingpainfully。
　　“There’sameasureinallthings，”Luzhinwentonsuperciliously。“Economicideasarenotanincitementtomurder，andonehasbuttosuppose…”
　　“Andisittrue，”Raskolnikovinterposedoncemoresuddenly，againinavoicequiveringwithfuryanddelightininsultinghim，“isittruethatyoutoldyourfiancee…withinanhourofheracceptance，thatwhatpleasedyoumost…wasthatshewasabeggar…becauseitwasbettertoraiseawifefrompoverty，sothatyoumayhavecompletecontroloverher，andreproachherwithyourbeingherbenefactor？”
　　“Uponmyword，”Luzhincriedwrathfullyandirritably，crimsonwithconfusion，“todistortmywordsinthisway！Excuseme，allowmetoassureyouthatthereportwhichhasreachedyou，orrather，letmesay，hasbeenconveyedtoyou，hasnofoundationintruth，andI…suspectwho…inaword…thisarrow…inaword，yourmamma…Sheseemedtomeinotherthings，withallherexcellentqualities，ofasomewhathigh-flownandromanticwayofthinking。…ButIwasathousandmilesfromsupposingthatshewouldmisunderstandandmisrepresentthingsinsofancifulaway。…Andindeed…indeed…”
　　“Itellyouwhat，”criedRaskolnikov，raisinghimselfonhispillowandfixinghispiercing，glitteringeyesuponhim，“Itellyouwhat。”
　　“What？”Luzhinstoodstill，waitingwithadefiantandoffendedface。Silencelastedforsomeseconds。
　　“Why，ifeveragain…youdaretomentionasingleword…aboutmymother…Ishallsendyouflyingdownstairs！”
　　“What’sthematterwithyou？”criedRazumihin。
　　“Sothat’showitis？”Luzhinturnedpaleandbithislip。“Letmetellyou，sir，”hebegandeliberately，doinghisutmosttorestrainhimselfbutbreathinghard，“atthefirstmomentIsawyouyouwereill-disposedtome，butIremainedhereonpurposetofindoutmore。Icouldforgiveagreatdealinasickmanandaconnection，butyou…neverafterthis…”
　　“Iamnotill，”criedRaskolnikov。
　　“Somuchtheworse…”
　　“Gotohell！”
　　ButLuzhinwasalreadyleavingwithoutfinishinghisspeech，squeezingbetweenthetableandthechair；Razumihingotupthistimetolethimpass。Withoutglancingatanyone，andnotevennoddingtoZossimov，whohadforsometimebeenmakingsignstohimtoletthesickmanalone，hewentout，liftinghishattothelevelofhisshoulderstoavoidcrushingitashestoopedtogooutofthedoor。Andeventhecurveofhisspinewasexpressiveofthehorribleinsulthehadreceived。
　　“Howcouldyou—howcouldyou！”Razumihinsaid，shakinghisheadinperplexity。
　　“Letmealone—letmealoneallofyou！”Raskolnikovcriedinafrenzy。“Willyoueverleaveofftormentingme？Iamnotafraidofyou！Iamnotafraidofanyone，anyonenow！Getawayfromme！Iwanttobealone，alone，alone！”
　　“Comealong，”saidZossimov，noddingtoRazumihin。
　　“Butwecan’tleavehimlikethis！”
　　“Comealong，”Zossimovrepeatedinsistently，andhewentout。Razumihinthoughtaminuteandrantoovertakehim。
　　“Itmightbeworsenottoobeyhim，”saidZossimovonthestairs。“Hemustn’tbeirritated。”
　　“What’sthematterwithhim？”
　　“Ifonlyhecouldgetsomefavourableshock，that’swhatwoulddoit！Atfirsthewasbetter。…Youknowhehasgotsomethingonhismind！Somefixedideaweighingonhim。…Iamverymuchafraidso；hemusthave！”
　　“Perhapsit’sthatgentleman，PyotrPetrovitch。FromhisconversationIgatherheisgoingtomarryhissister，andthathehadreceivedaletteraboutitjustbeforehisillness。…”
　　“Yes，confoundtheman！hemayhaveupsetthecasealtogether。Buthaveyounoticed，hetakesnointerestinanything，hedoesnotrespondtoanythingexceptonepointonwhichheseemsexcited—that’sthemurder？”
　　“Yes，yes，”Razumihinagreed，“Inoticedthat，too。Heisinterested，frightened。Itgavehimashockonthedayhewasillinthepoliceoffice；hefainted。”
　　“TellmemoreaboutthatthiseveningandI’lltellyousomethingafterwards。Heinterestsmeverymuch！InhalfanhourI’llgoandseehimagain。…There’llbenoinflammationthough。”
　　“Thanks！AndI’llwaitwithPashenkameantimeandwillkeepwatchonhimthroughNastasya。…”
　　Raskolnikov，leftalone，lookedwithimpatienceandmiseryatNastasya，butshestilllingered。
　　“Won’tyouhavesometeanow？”sheasked。
　　“Later！Iamsleepy！Leaveme。”
　　Heturnedabruptlytothewall；Nastasyawentout。
　　Butassoonasshewentout，hegotup，latchedthedoor，undidtheparcelwhichRazumihinhadbroughtinthateveningandhadtiedupagainandbegandressing。Strangetosay，heseemedimmediatelytohavebecomeperfectlycalm；notatraceofhisrecentdeliriumnorofthepanicfearthathadhauntedhimoflate。Itwasthefirstmomentofastrangesuddencalm。Hismovementswerepreciseanddefinite；afirmpurposewasevidentinthem。“To-day，to-day，”hemutteredtohimself。Heunderstoodthathewasstillweak，buthisintensespiritualconcentrationgavehimstrengthandself-confidence。Hehoped，moreover，thathewouldnotfalldowninthestreet。Whenhehaddressedinentirelynewclothes，helookedatthemoneylyingonthetable，andafteramoment’sthoughtputitinhispocket。Itwastwenty-fiveroubles。HetookalsoallthecopperchangefromthetenroublesspentbyRazumihinontheclothes。Thenhesoftlyunlatchedthedoor，wentout，slippeddownstairsandglancedinattheopenkitchendoor。Nastasyawasstandingwithherbacktohim，blowingupthelandlady’ssamovar。Sheheardnothing。Whowouldhavedreamedofhisgoingout，indeed？Aminutelaterhewasinthestreet。
　　Itwasnearlyeighto’clock，thesunwassetting。Itwasasstiflingasbefore，butheeagerlydrankinthestinking，dustytownair。Hisheadfeltratherdizzy；asortofsavageenergygleamedsuddenlyinhisfeverisheyesandhiswasted，paleandyellowface。Hedidnotknowanddidnotthinkwherehewasgoing，hehadonethoughtonly:“thatallthismustbeendedto-day，onceforall，immediately；thathewouldnotreturnhomewithoutit，becausehewouldnotgoonlivinglikethat。”How，withwhattomakeanend？Hehadnotanideaaboutit，hedidnotevenwanttothinkofit。Hedroveawaythought；thoughttorturedhim。Allheknew，allhefeltwasthateverythingmustbechanged“onewayoranother，”herepeatedwithdesperateandimmovableself-confidenceanddetermination。
　　FromoldhabithetookhisusualwalkinthedirectionoftheHayMarket。Adark-hairedyoungmanwithabarrelorganwasstandingintheroadinfrontofalittlegeneralshopandwasgrindingoutaverysentimentalsong。Hewasaccompanyingagirloffifteen，whostoodonthepavementinfrontofhim。Shewasdressedupinacrinoline，amantleandastrawhatwithaflame-colouredfeatherinit，allveryoldandshabby。Inastrongandratheragreeablevoice，crackedandcoarsenedbystreetsinging，shesanginhopeofgettingacopperfromtheshop。Raskolnikovjoinedtwoorthreelisteners，tookoutafivecopeckpieceandputitinthegirl’shand。Shebrokeoffabruptlyonasentimentalhighnote，shoutedsharplytotheorgangrinder“Comeon，”andbothmovedontothenextshop。
　　“Doyoulikestreetmusic？”saidRaskolnikov，addressingamiddle-agedmanstandingidlybyhim。Themanlookedathim，startledandwondering。
　　“Ilovetohearsingingtoastreetorgan，”saidRaskolnikov，andhismannerseemedstrangelyoutofkeepingwiththesubject—“Ilikeitoncold，dark，dampautumnevenings—theymustbedamp—whenallthepassers-byhavepalegreen，sicklyfaces，orbetterstillwhenwetsnowisfallingstraightdown，whenthere’snowind—youknowwhatImean？—andthestreetlampsshinethroughit…”
　　“Idon’tknow。…Excuseme…”mutteredthestranger，frightenedbythequestionandRaskolnikov’sstrangemanner，andhecrossedovertotheothersideofthestreet。
　　RaskolnikovwalkedstraightonandcameoutatthecorneroftheHayMarket，wherethehucksterandhiswifehadtalkedwithLizaveta；buttheywerenottherenow。Recognisingtheplace，hestopped，lookedroundandaddressedayoungfellowinaredshirtwhostoodgapingbeforeacornchandler’sshop。
　　“Isn’tthereamanwhokeepsaboothwithhiswifeatthiscorner？”
　　“Allsortsofpeoplekeepboothshere，”answeredtheyoungman，glancingsuperciliouslyatRaskolnikov。
　　“What’shisname？”
　　“Whathewaschristened。”
　　“Aren’tyouaZaraiskyman，too？Whichprovince？”
　　TheyoungmanlookedatRaskolnikovagain。
　　“It’snotaprovince，yourexcellency，butadistrict。Graciouslyforgiveme，yourexcellency！”
　　“Isthatatavernatthetopthere？”
　　“Yes，it’saneating-houseandthere’sabilliard-roomandyou’llfindprincessestheretoo。…La-la！”
　　Raskolnikovcrossedthesquare。Inthatcornertherewasadensecrowdofpeasants。Hepushedhiswayintothethickestpartofit，lookingatthefaces。Hefeltanunaccountableinclinationtoenterintoconversationwithpeople。Butthepeasantstooknonoticeofhim；theywereallshoutingingroupstogether。HestoodandthoughtalittleandtookaturningtotherightinthedirectionofV。
　　Hehadoftencrossedthatlittlestreetwhichturnsatanangle，leadingfromthemarket-placetoSadovyStreet。Oflatehehadoftenfeltdrawntowanderaboutthisdistrict，whenhefeltdepressed，thathemightfeelmoreso。
　　Nowhewalkedalong，thinkingofnothing。Atthatpointthereisagreatblockofbuildings，entirelyletoutindramshopsandeating-houses；womenwerecontinuallyrunninginandout，bare-headedandintheirindoorclothes。Hereandtheretheygatheredingroups，onthepavement，especiallyabouttheentrancestovariousfestiveestablishmentsinthelowerstoreys。Fromoneofthesealouddin，soundsofsinging，thetinklingofaguitarandshoutsofmerriment，floatedintothestreet。Acrowdofwomenwerethrongingroundthedoor；someweresittingonthesteps，othersonthepavement，otherswerestandingtalking。Adrunkensoldier，smokingacigarette，waswalkingnearthemintheroad，swearing；heseemedtobetryingtofindhiswaysomewhere，buthadforgottenwhere。Onebeggarwasquarrellingwithanother，andamandeaddrunkwaslyingrightacrosstheroad。Raskolnikovjoinedthethrongofwomen，whoweretalkinginhuskyvoices。Theywerebare-headedandworecottondressesandgoatskinshoes。Therewerewomenoffortyandsomenotmorethanseventeen；almostallhadblackenedeyes。
　　Hefeltstrangelyattractedbythesingingandallthenoiseanduproarinthesaloonbelow。…someonecouldbeheardwithindancingfrantically，markingtimewithhisheelstothesoundsoftheguitarandofathinfalsettovoicesingingajauntyair。Helistenedintently，gloomilyanddreamily，bendingdownattheentranceandpeepinginquisitivelyinfromthepavement。
　　“Oh，myhandsomesoldier
　　Don’tbeatmefornothing，”
　　trilledthethinvoiceofthesinger。Raskolnikovfeltagreatdesiretomakeoutwhathewassinging，asthougheverythingdependedonthat。
　　“ShallIgoin？”hethought。“Theyarelaughing。Fromdrink。ShallIgetdrunk？”
　　“Won’tyoucomein？”oneofthewomenaskedhim。Hervoicewasstillmusicalandlessthickthantheothers，shewasyoungandnotrepulsive—theonlyoneofthegroup。
　　“Why，she’spretty，”hesaid，drawinghimselfupandlookingather。
　　Shesmiled，muchpleasedatthecompliment。
　　“You’reverynicelookingyourself，”shesaid。
　　“Isn’thethinthough！”observedanotherwomaninadeepbass。“Haveyoujustcomeoutofahospital？”
　　“They’reallgenerals’daughters，itseems，buttheyhaveallsnubnoses，”interposedatipsypeasantwithaslysmileonhisface，wearingaloosecoat。“Seehowjollytheyare。”
　　“Goalongwithyou！”
　　“I’llgo，sweetie！”
　　Andhedarteddownintothesaloonbelow。Raskolnikovmovedon。
　　“Isay，sir，”thegirlshoutedafterhim。
　　“Whatisit？”
　　Shehesitated。
　　“I’llalwaysbepleasedtospendanhourwithyou，kindgentleman，butnowIfeelshy。Givemesixcopecksforadrink，there’saniceyoungman！”
　　Raskolnikovgaveherwhatcamefirst—fifteencopecks。
　　“Ah，whatagood-naturedgentleman！”
　　“What’syourname？”
　　“AskforDuclida。”
　　“Well，that’stoomuch，”oneofthewomenobserved，shakingherheadatDuclida。“Idon’tknowhowyoucanasklikethat。IbelieveIshoulddropwithshame。…”
　　Raskolnikovlookedcuriouslyatthespeaker。Shewasapock-markedwenchofthirty，coveredwithbruises，withherupperlipswollen。Shemadehercriticismquietlyandearnestly。“Whereisit，”thoughtRaskolnikov。“WhereisitI’vereadthatsomeonecondemnedtodeathsaysorthinks，anhourbeforehisdeath，thatifhehadtoliveonsomehighrock，onsuchanarrowledgethathe’donlyroomtostand，andtheocean，everlastingdarkness，everlastingsolitude，everlastingtempestaroundhim，ifhehadtoremainstandingonasquareyardofspaceallhislife，athousandyears，eternity，itwerebettertolivesothantodieatonce！Onlytolive，toliveandlive！Life，whateveritmaybe！…Howtrueitis！GoodGod，howtrue！Manisavilecreature！…Andvileishewhocallshimvileforthat，”headdedamomentlater。
　　Hewentintoanotherstreet。“Bah，thePalaisdeCristal！RazumihinwasjusttalkingofthePalaisdeCristal。ButwhatonearthwasitIwanted？Yes，thenewspapers。…Zossimovsaidhe’dreaditinthepapers。Haveyouthepapers？”heasked，goingintoaveryspaciousandpositivelycleanrestaurant，consistingofseveralrooms，whichwere，however，ratherempty。Twoorthreepeopleweredrinkingtea，andinaroomfurtherawayweresittingfourmendrinkingchampagne。RaskolnikovfanciedthatZametovwasoneofthem，buthecouldnotbesureatthatdistance。“Whatifitis？”hethought。
　　“Willyouhavevodka？”askedthewaiter。
　　“Givemesometeaandbringmethepapers，theoldonesforthelastfivedays，andI’llgiveyousomething。”
　　“Yes，sir，here’sto-day’s。Novodka？”
　　Theoldnewspapersandtheteawerebrought。Raskolnikovsatdownandbegantolookthroughthem。
　　“Oh，damn…thesearetheitemsofintelligence。Anaccidentonastaircase，spontaneouscombustionofashopkeeperfromalcohol，afireinPeski…afireinthePetersburgquarter…anotherfireinthePetersburgquarter…andanotherfireinthePetersburgquarter。…Ah，hereitis！”Hefoundatlastwhathewasseekingandbegantoreadit。Thelinesdancedbeforehiseyes，buthereaditallandbeganeagerlyseekinglateradditionsinthefollowingnumbers。Hishandsshookwithnervousimpatienceasheturnedthesheets。Suddenlysomeonesatdownbesidehimathistable。Helookedup，itwastheheadclerkZametov，lookingjustthesame，withtheringsonhisfingersandthewatch-chain，withthecurly，blackhair，partedandpomaded，withthesmartwaistcoat，rathershabbycoatanddoubtfullinen。Hewasinagoodhumour，atleasthewassmilingverygailyandgood-humouredly。Hisdarkfacewasratherflushedfromthechampagnehehaddrunk。
　　“What，youhere？”hebeganinsurprise，speakingasthoughhe’dknownhimallhislife。“Why，Razumihintoldmeonlyyesterdayyouwereunconscious。Howstrange！AnddoyouknowI’vebeentoseeyou？”
　　Raskolnikovknewhewouldcomeuptohim。HelaidasidethepapersandturnedtoZametov。Therewasasmileonhislips，andanewshadeofirritableimpatiencewasapparentinthatsmile。
　　“Iknowyouhave，”heanswered。“I’veheardit。Youlookedformysock。…AndyouknowRazumihinhaslosthishearttoyou？Hesaysyou’vebeenwithhimtoLuiseIvanovna’s—youknow，thewomanyoutriedtobefriend，forwhomyouwinkedtotheExplosiveLieutenantandhewouldnotunderstand。Doyouremember？Howcouldhefailtounderstand—itwasquiteclear，wasn’tit？”
　　“Whatahotheadheis！”
　　“Theexplosiveone？”
　　“No，yourfriendRazumihin。”
　　“Youmusthaveajollylife，Mr。Zametov；entrancefreetothemostagreeableplaces。Who’sbeenpouringchampagneintoyoujustnow？”
　　“We’vejustbeen…havingadrinktogether。…Youtalkaboutpouringitintome！”
　　“Bywayofafee！Youprofitbyeverything！”Raskolnikovlaughed，“it’sallright，mydearboy，”headded，slappingZametovontheshoulder。“Iamnotspeakingfromtemper，butinafriendlyway，forsport，asthatworkmanofyourssaidwhenhewasscufflingwithDmitri，inthecaseoftheoldwoman。…”
　　“Howdoyouknowaboutit？”
　　“PerhapsIknowmoreaboutitthanyoudo。”
　　“Howstrangeyouare。…Iamsureyouarestillveryunwell。Yououghtn’ttohavecomeout。”
　　“Oh，doIseemstrangetoyou？”
　　“Yes。Whatareyoudoing，readingthepapers？”
　　“Yes。”
　　“There’salotaboutthefires。”
　　“No，Iamnotreadingaboutthefires。”HerehelookedmysteriouslyatZametov；hislipsweretwistedagaininamockingsmile。“No，Iamnotreadingaboutthefires，”hewenton，winkingatZametov。“Butconfessnow，mydearfellow，you’reawfullyanxioustoknowwhatIamreadingabout？”
　　“Iamnotintheleast。Mayn’tIaskaquestion？Whydoyoukeepon…？”
　　“Listen，youareamanofcultureandeducation？”
　　“Iwasinthesixthclassatthegymnasium，”saidZametovwithsomedignity。
　　“Sixthclass！Ah，mycock-sparrow！Withyourpartingandyourrings—youareagentlemanoffortune。Foo！whatacharmingboy！”HereRaskolnikovbrokeintoanervouslaughrightinZametov’sface。Thelatterdrewback，moreamazedthanoffended。
　　“Foo！howstrangeyouare！”Zametovrepeatedveryseriously。“Ican’thelpthinkingyouarestilldelirious。”
　　“Iamdelirious？Youarefibbing，mycock-sparrow！SoIamstrange？Youfindmecurious，doyou？”
　　“Yes，curious。”
　　“ShallItellyouwhatIwasreadingabout，whatIwaslookingfor？SeewhatalotofpapersI’vemadethembringme。Suspicious，eh？”
　　“Well，whatisit？”
　　“Youprickupyourears？”
　　“Howdoyoumean—‘prickupmyears’？”
　　“I’llexplainthatafterwards，butnow，myboy，Ideclaretoyou…no，better‘Iconfess’…No，that’snotrighteither；‘Imakeadepositionandyoutakeit。’IdeposethatIwasreading，thatIwaslookingandsearching。…”hescreweduphiseyesandpaused。“Iwassearching—andcamehereonpurposetodoit—fornewsofthemurderoftheoldpawnbrokerwoman，”hearticulatedatlast，almostinawhisper，bringinghisfaceexceedinglyclosetothefaceofZametov。Zametovlookedathimsteadily，withoutmovingordrawinghisfaceaway。WhatstruckZametovafterwardsasthestrangestpartofitallwasthatsilencefollowedforexactlyaminute，andthattheygazedatoneanotherallthewhile。
　　“Whatifyouhavebeenreadingaboutit？”hecriedatlast，perplexedandimpatient。“That’snobusinessofmine！Whatofit？”
　　“Thesameoldwoman，”Raskolnikovwentoninthesamewhisper，notheedingZametov’sexplanation，“aboutwhomyouweretalkinginthepolice-office，youremember，whenIfainted。Well，doyouunderstandnow？”
　　“Whatdoyoumean？Understand…what？”Zametovbroughtout，almostalarmed。
　　Raskolnikov’ssetandearnestfacewassuddenlytransformed，andhesuddenlywentoffintothesamenervouslaughasbefore，asthoughutterlyunabletorestrainhimself。Andinoneflashherecalledwithextraordinaryvividnessofsensationamomentintherecentpast，thatmomentwhenhestoodwiththeaxebehindthedoor，whilethelatchtrembledandthemenoutsidesworeandshookit，andhehadasuddendesiretoshoutatthem，toswearatthem，toputouthistongueatthem，tomockthem，tolaugh，andlaugh，andlaugh！
　　“Youareeithermad，or…”beganZametov，andhebrokeoff，asthoughstunnedbytheideathathadsuddenlyflashedintohismind。
　　“Or？Orwhat？What？Come，tellme！”
　　“Nothing，”saidZametov，gettingangry，“it’sallnonsense！”
　　Bothweresilent。AfterhissuddenfitoflaughterRaskolnikovbecamesuddenlythoughtfulandmelancholy。Heputhiselbowonthetableandleanedhisheadonhishand。HeseemedtohavecompletelyforgottenZametov。Thesilencelastedforsometime。
　　“Whydon’tyoudrinkyourtea？It’sgettingcold，”saidZametov。
　　“What！Tea？Oh，yes。…”Raskolnikovsippedtheglass，putamorselofbreadinhismouthand，suddenlylookingatZametov，seemedtoremembereverythingandpulledhimselftogether。Atthesamemomenthisfaceresumeditsoriginalmockingexpression。Hewentondrinkingtea。
　　“Therehavebeenagreatmanyofthesecrimeslately，”saidZametov。“OnlytheotherdayIreadintheMoscowNewsthatawholegangoffalsecoinershadbeencaughtinMoscow。Itwasaregularsociety。Theyusedtoforgetickets！”
　　“Oh，butitwasalongtimeago！Ireadaboutitamonthago，”Raskolnikovansweredcalmly。“Soyouconsiderthemcriminals？”headded，smiling。
　　“Ofcoursetheyarecriminals。”
　　“They？Theyarechildren，simpletons，notcriminals！Why，halfahundredpeoplemeetingforsuchanobject—whatanidea！Threewouldbetoomany，andthentheywanttohavemorefaithinoneanotherthaninthemselves！Onehasonlytoblabinhiscupsanditallcollapses。Simpletons！Theyengageduntrustworthypeopletochangethenotes—whatathingtotrusttoacasualstranger！Well，letussupposethatthesesimpletonssucceedandeachmakesamillion，andwhatfollowsfortherestoftheirlives？Eachisdependentontheothersfortherestofhislife！Betterhangoneselfatonce！Andtheydidnotknowhowtochangethenoteseither；themanwhochangedthenotestookfivethousandroubles，andhishandstrembled。Hecountedthefirstfourthousand，butdidnotcountthefifththousand—hewasinsuchahurrytogetthemoneyintohispocketandrunaway。Ofcourseherousedsuspicion。Andthewholethingcametoacrashthroughonefool！Isitpossible？”
　　“Thathishandstrembled？”observedZametov，“yes，that’squitepossible。That，Ifeelquitesure，ispossible。Sometimesonecan’tstandthings。”
　　“Can’tstandthat？”
　　“Why，couldyoustanditthen？No，Icouldn’t。Forthesakeofahundredroublestofacesuchaterribleexperience？Togowithfalsenotesintoabankwhereit’stheirbusinesstospotthatsortofthing！No，Ishouldnothavethefacetodoit。Wouldyou？”
　　Raskolnikovhadanintensedesireagain“toputhistongueout。”Shiverskeptrunningdownhisspine。
　　“Ishoulddoitquitedifferently，”Raskolnikovbegan。“ThisishowIwouldchangethenotes:I’dcountthefirstthousandthreeorfourtimesbackwardsandforwards，lookingateverynoteandthenI’dsettothesecondthousand；I’dcountthathalf-waythroughandthenholdsomefifty-roublenotetothelight，thenturnit，thenholdittothelightagain—toseewhetheritwasagoodone。‘Iamafraid，’Iwouldsay，‘arelationofminelosttwenty-fiveroublestheotherdaythroughafalsenote，’andthenI’dtellthemthewholestory。AndafterIbegancountingthethird，‘No，excuseme，’Iwouldsay，‘IfancyImadeamistakeintheseventhhundredinthatsecondthousand，Iamnotsure。’AndsoIwouldgiveupthethirdthousandandgobacktothesecondandsoontotheend。AndwhenIhadfinished，I’dpickoutonefromthefifthandonefromthesecondthousandandtakethemagaintothelightandaskagain，‘Changethem，please，’andputtheclerkintosuchastewthathewouldnotknowhowtogetridofme。WhenI’dfinishedandhadgoneout，I’dcomeback，‘No，excuseme，’andaskforsomeexplanation。That’showI’ddoit。”
　　“Foo！whatterriblethingsyousay！”saidZametov，laughing。“Butallthatisonlytalk。Idaresaywhenitcametodeedsyou’dmakeaslip。Ibelievethatevenapractised，desperatemancannotalwaysreckononhimself，muchlessyouandI。Totakeanexamplenearhome—thatoldwomanmurderedinourdistrict。Themurdererseemstohavebeenadesperatefellow，heriskedeverythinginopendaylight，wassavedbyamiracle—buthishandsshook，too。Hedidnotsucceedinrobbingtheplace，hecouldn’tstandit。Thatwasclearfromthe…”
　　Raskolnikovseemedoffended。
　　“Clear？Whydon’tyoucatchhimthen？”hecried，maliciouslygibingatZametov。
　　“Well，theywillcatchhim。”
　　“Who？You？Doyousupposeyoucouldcatchhim？You’veatoughjob！Agreatpointforyouiswhetheramanisspendingmoneyornot。Ifhehadnomoneyandsuddenlybeginsspending，hemustbetheman。Sothatanychildcanmisleadyou。”
　　“Thefactistheyalwaysdothat，though，”answeredZametov。“Amanwillcommitaclevermurderattheriskofhislifeandthenatoncehegoesdrinkinginatavern。Theyarecaughtspendingmoney，theyarenotallascunningasyouare。Youwouldn’tgotoatavern，ofcourse？”
　　RaskolnikovfrownedandlookedsteadilyatZametov。
　　“YouseemtoenjoythesubjectandwouldliketoknowhowIshouldbehaveinthatcase，too？”heaskedwithdispleasure。
　　“Ishouldliketo，”Zametovansweredfirmlyandseriously。Somewhattoomuchearnestnessbegantoappearinhiswordsandlooks。
　　“Verymuch？”
　　“Verymuch！”
　　“Allrightthen。ThisishowIshouldbehave，”Raskolnikovbegan，againbringinghisfaceclosetoZametov’s，againstaringathimandspeakinginawhisper，sothatthelatterpositivelyshuddered。“ThisiswhatIshouldhavedone。Ishouldhavetakenthemoneyandjewels，Ishouldhavewalkedoutofthereandhavegonestraighttosomedesertedplacewithfencesrounditandscarcelyanyonetobeseen，somekitchengardenorplaceofthatsort。Ishouldhavelookedoutbeforehandsomestoneweighingahundredweightormorewhichhadbeenlyinginthecornerfromthetimethehousewasbuilt。Iwouldliftthatstone—therewouldsuretobeahollowunderit，andIwouldputthejewelsandmoneyinthathole。ThenI’drollthestonebacksothatitwouldlookasbefore，wouldpressitdownwithmyfootandwalkaway。Andforayearortwo，threemaybe，Iwouldnottouchit。And，well，theycouldsearch！There’dbenotrace。”
　　“Youareamadman，”saidZametov，andforsomereasonhetoospokeinawhisper，andmovedawayfromRaskolnikov，whoseeyeswereglittering。Hehadturnedfearfullypaleandhisupperlipwastwitchingandquivering。HebentdownascloseaspossibletoZametov，andhislipsbegantomovewithoututteringaword。Thislastedforhalfaminute；heknewwhathewasdoing，butcouldnotrestrainhimself。Theterriblewordtrembledonhislips，likethelatchonthatdoor；inanothermomentitwillbreakout，inanothermomenthewillletitgo，hewillspeakout。
　　“AndwhatifitwasIwhomurderedtheoldwomanandLizaveta？”hesaidsuddenlyand—realisedwhathehaddone。
　　Zametovlookedwildlyathimandturnedwhiteasthetablecloth。Hisfaceworeacontortedsmile。
　　“Butisitpossible？”hebroughtoutfaintly。Raskolnikovlookedwrathfullyathim。
　　“Ownupthatyoubelievedit，yes，youdid？”
　　“Notabitofit，Ibelieveitlessthanevernow，”Zametovcriedhastily。
　　“I’vecaughtmycock-sparrow！Soyoudidbelieveitbefore，ifnowyoubelievelessthanever？”
　　“Notatall，”criedZametov，obviouslyembarrassed。“Haveyoubeenfrighteningmesoastoleaduptothis？”
　　“Youdon’tbelieveitthen？WhatwereyoutalkingaboutbehindmybackwhenIwentoutofthepolice-office？AndwhydidtheexplosivelieutenantquestionmeafterIfainted？Hey，there，”heshoutedtothewaiter，gettingupandtakinghiscap，“howmuch？”
　　“Thirtycopecks，”thelatterreplied，runningup。
　　“Andthereistwentycopecksforvodka。Seewhatalotofmoney！”heheldouthisshakinghandtoZametovwithnotesinit。“Rednotesandblue，twenty-fiveroubles。WheredidIgetthem？Andwheredidmynewclothescomefrom？YouknowIhadnotacopeck。You’vecross-examinedmylandlady，I’llbebound。…Well，that’senough！Assezcause！Tillwemeetagain！”
　　Hewentout，tremblingalloverfromasortofwildhystericalsensation，inwhichtherewasanelementofinsufferablerapture。Yethewasgloomyandterriblytired。Hisfacewastwistedasafterafit。Hisfatigueincreasedrapidly。Anyshock，anyirritatingsensationstimulatedandrevivedhisenergiesatonce，buthisstrengthfailedasquicklywhenthestimuluswasremoved。
　　Zametov，leftalone，satforalongtimeinthesameplace，plungedinthought。Raskolnikovhadunwittinglyworkedarevolutioninhisbrainonacertainpointandhadmadeuphismindforhimconclusively。
　　“IlyaPetrovitchisablockhead，”hedecided。
　　RaskolnikovhadhardlyopenedthedooroftherestaurantwhenhestumbledagainstRazumihinonthesteps。Theydidnotseeeachothertilltheyalmostknockedagainsteachother。Foramomenttheystoodlookingeachotherupanddown。Razumihinwasgreatlyastounded，thenanger，realangergleamedfiercelyinhiseyes。
　　“Sohereyouare！”heshoutedatthetopofhisvoice—“youranawayfromyourbed！AndhereI’vebeenlookingforyouunderthesofa！Wewentuptothegarret。IalmostbeatNastasyaonyouraccount。Andhereheisafterall。Rodya！Whatisthemeaningofit？Tellmethewholetruth！Confess！Doyouhear？”
　　“ItmeansthatI’msicktodeathofyouallandIwanttobealone，”Raskolnikovansweredcalmly。
　　“Alone？Whenyouarenotabletowalk，whenyourfaceisaswhiteasasheetandyouaregaspingforbreath！Idiot！…WhathaveyoubeendoinginthePalaisdeCristal？Ownupatonce！”
　　“Letmego！”saidRaskolnikovandtriedtopasshim。ThiswastoomuchforRazumihin；hegrippedhimfirmlybytheshoulder。
　　“Letyougo？Youdaretellmetoletyougo？DoyouknowwhatI’lldowithyoudirectly？I’llpickyouup，tieyouupinabundle，carryyouhomeundermyarmandlockyouup！”
　　“Listen，Razumihin，”Raskolnikovbeganquietly，apparentlycalm—“can’tyouseethatIdon’twantyourbenevolence？Astrangedesireyouhavetoshowerbenefitsonamanwho…cursesthem，whofeelsthemaburdeninfact！Whydidyouseekmeoutatthebeginningofmyillness？MaybeIwasverygladtodie。Didn’tItellyouplainlyenoughto-daythatyouweretorturingme，thatIwas…sickofyou！Youseemtowanttotorturepeople！Iassureyouthatallthatisseriouslyhinderingmyrecovery，becauseit’scontinuallyirritatingme。YousawZossimovwentawayjustnowtoavoidirritatingme。Youleavemealonetoo，forgoodness’sake！Whatrighthaveyou，indeed，tokeepmebyforce？Don’tyouseethatIaminpossessionofallmyfacultiesnow？How，howcanIpersuadeyounottopersecutemewithyourkindness？Imaybeungrateful，Imaybemean，onlyletmebe，forGod’ssake，letmebe！Letmebe，letmebe！”
　　Hebegancalmly，gloatingbeforehandoverthevenomousphraseshewasabouttoutter，butfinished，pantingforbreath，inafrenzy，ashehadbeenwithLuzhin。
　　Razumihinstoodamoment，thoughtandlethishanddrop。
　　“Well，gotohellthen，”hesaidgentlyandthoughtfully。“Stay，”heroared，asRaskolnikovwasabouttomove。“Listentome。Letmetellyou，thatyouareallasetofbabbling，posingidiots！Ifyou’veanylittletroubleyoubroodoveritlikeahenoveranegg。Andyouareplagiaristseveninthat！Thereisn’tasignofindependentlifeinyou！Youaremadeofspermacetiointmentandyou’velymphinyourveinsinsteadofblood。Idon’tbelieveinanyoneofyou！Inanycircumstancesthefirstthingforallofyouistobeunlikeahumanbeing！Stop！”hecriedwithredoubledfury，noticingthatRaskolnikovwasagainmakingamovement—“hearmeout！YouknowI’mhavingahouse-warmingthisevening，Idaresaythey’vearrivedbynow，butIleftmyunclethere—Ijustranin—toreceivetheguests。Andifyouweren’tafool，acommonfool，aperfectfool，ifyouwereanoriginalinsteadofatranslation…yousee，Rodya，Irecogniseyou’reacleverfellow，butyou’reafool！—andifyouweren’tafoolyou’dcomeroundtomethiseveninginsteadofwearingoutyourbootsinthestreet！Sinceyouhavegoneout，there’snohelpforit！I’dgiveyouasnugeasychair，mylandladyhasone…acupoftea，company。…Oryoucouldlieonthesofa—anywayyouwouldbewithus。…Zossimovwillbetheretoo。Willyoucome？”
　　“No。”
　　“R-rubbish！”Razumihinshouted，outofpatience。“Howdoyouknow？Youcan’tanswerforyourself！Youdon’tknowanythingaboutit。…ThousandsoftimesI’vefoughttoothandnailwithpeopleandrunbacktothemafterwards。…Onefeelsashamedandgoesbacktoaman！Soremember，Potchinkov’shouseonthethirdstorey。…”
　　“Why，Mr。Razumihin，Idobelieveyou’dletanybodybeatyoufromsheerbenevolence。”
　　“Beat？Whom？Me？I’dtwisthisnoseoffatthemereidea！Potchinkov’shouse，47，Babushkin’sflat。…”
　　“Ishallnotcome，Razumihin。”Raskolnikovturnedandwalkedaway。
　　“Ibetyouwill，”Razumihinshoutedafterhim。“Irefusetoknowyouifyoudon’t！Stay，hey，isZametovinthere？”
　　“Yes。”
　　“Didyouseehim？”
　　“Yes。”
　　“Talkedtohim？”
　　“Yes。”
　　“Whatabout？Confoundyou，don’ttellmethen。Potchinkov’shouse，47，Babushkin’sflat，remember！”
　　RaskolnikovwalkedonandturnedthecornerintoSadovyStreet。Razumihinlookedafterhimthoughtfully。Thenwithawaveofhishandhewentintothehousebutstoppedshortofthestairs。
　　“Confoundit，”hewentonalmostaloud。“Hetalkedsensiblybutyet…Iamafool！Asifmadmendidn’ttalksensibly！AndthiswasjustwhatZossimovseemedafraidof。”Hestruckhisfingeronhisforehead。“Whatif…howcouldIlethimgooffalone？Hemaydrownhimself。…Ach，whatablunder！Ican’t。”AndheranbacktoovertakeRaskolnikov，buttherewasnotraceofhim。WithacursehereturnedwithrapidstepstothePalaisdeCristaltoquestionZametov。
　　RaskolnikovwalkedstraighttoX——Bridge，stoodinthemiddle，andleaningbothelbowsontherailstaredintothedistance。OnpartingwithRazumihin，hefeltsomuchweakerthathecouldscarcelyreachthisplace。Helongedtositorliedownsomewhereinthestreet。Bendingoverthewater，hegazedmechanicallyatthelastpinkflushofthesunset，attherowofhousesgrowingdarkinthegatheringtwilight，atonedistantatticwindowontheleftbank，flashingasthoughonfireinthelastraysofthesettingsun，atthedarkeningwaterofthecanal，andthewaterseemedtocatchhisattention。Atlastredcirclesflashedbeforehiseyes，thehousesseemedmoving，thepassers-by，thecanalbanks，thecarriages，alldancedbeforehiseyes。Suddenlyhestarted，savedagainperhapsfromswooningbyanuncannyandhideoussight。Hebecameawareofsomeonestandingontherightsideofhim；helookedandsawatallwomanwithakerchiefonherhead，withalong，yellow，wastedfaceandredsunkeneyes。Shewaslookingstraightathim，butobviouslyshesawnothingandrecognisednoone。Suddenlysheleanedherrighthandontheparapet，liftedherrightlegovertherailing，thenherleftandthrewherselfintothecanal。Thefilthywaterpartedandswallowedupitsvictimforamoment，butaninstantlaterthedrowningwomanfloatedtothesurface，movingslowlywiththecurrent，herheadandlegsinthewater，herskirtinflatedlikeaballoonoverherback。
　　“Awomandrowning！Awomandrowning！”shouteddozensofvoices；peopleranup，bothbankswerethrongedwithspectators，onthebridgepeoplecrowdedaboutRaskolnikov，pressingupbehindhim。
　　“Mercyonit！it’sourAfrosinya！”awomancriedtearfullycloseby。“Mercy！saveher！kindpeople，pullherout！”
　　“Aboat，aboat”wasshoutedinthecrowd。Buttherewasnoneedofaboat；apolicemanrandownthestepstothecanal，threwoffhisgreatcoatandhisbootsandrushedintothewater。Itwaseasytoreachher:shefloatedwithinacoupleofyardsfromthesteps，hecaughtholdofherclotheswithhisrighthandandwithhisleftseizedapolewhichacomradeheldouttohim；thedrowningwomanwaspulledoutatonce。Theylaidheronthegranitepavementoftheembankment。Shesoonrecoveredconsciousness，raisedherhead，satupandbegansneezingandcoughing，stupidlywipingherwetdresswithherhands。Shesaidnothing。
　　“She’sdrunkherselfoutofhersenses，”thesamewoman’svoicewailedatherside。“Outofhersenses。Theotherdayshetriedtohangherself，wecutherdown。Iranouttotheshopjustnow，leftmylittlegirltolookafterher—andhereshe’sintroubleagain！Aneighbour，gentleman，aneighbour，welivecloseby，thesecondhousefromtheend，seeyonder。…”
　　Thecrowdbrokeup。Thepolicestillremainedroundthewoman，someonementionedthepolicestation。…Raskolnikovlookedonwithastrangesensationofindifferenceandapathy。Hefeltdisgusted。“No，that’sloathsome…water…it’snotgoodenough，”hemutteredtohimself。“Nothingwillcomeofit，”headded，“nousetowait。Whataboutthepoliceoffice…？Andwhyisn’tZametovatthepoliceoffice？Thepoliceofficeisopentillteno’clock。…”Heturnedhisbacktotherailingandlookedabouthim。
　　“Verywellthen！”hesaidresolutely；hemovedfromthebridgeandwalkedinthedirectionofthepoliceoffice。Hisheartfelthollowandempty。Hedidnotwanttothink。Evenhisdepressionhadpassed，therewasnotatracenowoftheenergywithwhichhehadsetout“tomakeanendofitall。”Completeapathyhadsucceededtoit。
　　“Well，it’sawayoutofit，”hethought，walkingslowlyandlistlesslyalongthecanalbank。“AnywayI’llmakeanend，forIwantto。…Butisitawayout？Whatdoesitmatter！There’llbethesquareyardofspace—ha！Butwhatanend！Isitreallytheend？ShallItellthemornot？Ah…damn！HowtiredIam！IfIcouldfindsomewheretositorliedownsoon！WhatIammostashamedofisitsbeingsostupid。ButIdon’tcareaboutthateither！Whatidioticideascomeintoone’shead。”
　　Toreachthepoliceofficehehadtogostraightforwardandtakethesecondturningtotheleft。Itwasonlyafewpacesaway。Butatthefirstturninghestoppedand，afteraminute’sthought，turnedintoasidestreetandwenttwostreetsoutofhisway，possiblywithoutanyobject，orpossiblytodelayaminuteandgaintime。Hewalked，lookingattheground；suddenlysomeoneseemedtowhisperinhisear；heliftedhisheadandsawthathewasstandingattheverygateofthehouse。Hehadnotpassedit，hehadnotbeennearitsincethatevening。Anoverwhelming，unaccountablepromptingdrewhimon。Hewentintothehouse，passedthroughthegateway，thenintothefirstentranceontheright，andbeganmountingthefamiliarstaircasetothefourthstorey。Thenarrow，steepstaircasewasverydark。Hestoppedateachlandingandlookedroundhimwithcuriosity；onthefirstlandingtheframeworkofthewindowhadbeentakenout。“Thatwasn’tsothen，”hethought。HerewastheflatonthesecondstoreywhereNikolayandDmitrihadbeenworking。“It’sshutupandthedoornewlypainted。Soit’stolet。”Thenthethirdstoreyandthefourth。“Here！”Hewasperplexedtofindthedooroftheflatwideopen。Therewerementhere，hecouldhearvoices；hehadnotexpectedthat。Afterbriefhesitationhemountedthelaststairsandwentintotheflat。It，too，wasbeingdoneup；therewereworkmeninit。Thisseemedtoamazehim；hesomehowfanciedthathewouldfindeverythingasheleftit，evenperhapsthecorpsesinthesameplacesonthefloor。Andnow，barewalls，nofurniture；itseemedstrange。Hewalkedtothewindowandsatdownonthewindow-sill。Thereweretwoworkmen，bothyoungfellows，butonemuchyoungerthantheother。Theywerepaperingthewallswithanewwhitepapercoveredwithlilacflowers，insteadoftheold，dirty，yellowone。Raskolnikovforsomereasonfelthorriblyannoyedbythis。Helookedatthenewpaperwithdislike，asthoughhefeltsorrytohaveitallsochanged。Theworkmenhadobviouslystayedbeyondtheirtimeandnowtheywerehurriedlyrollinguptheirpaperandgettingreadytogohome。TheytooknonoticeofRaskolnikov’scomingin；theyweretalking。Raskolnikovfoldedhisarmsandlistened。
　　“Shecomestomeinthemorning，”saidtheeldertotheyounger，“veryearly，alldressedup。‘Whyareyoupreeningandprinking？’saysI。‘Iamreadytodoanythingtopleaseyou，TitVassilitch！’That’sawayofgoingon！Andshedresseduplikearegularfashionbook！”
　　“Andwhatisafashionbook？”theyoungeroneasked。Heobviouslyregardedtheotherasanauthority。
　　“Afashionbookisalotofpictures，coloured，andtheycometothetailorshereeverySaturday，bypostfromabroad，toshowfolkshowtodress，themalesexaswellasthefemale。They’repictures。Thegentlemenaregenerallywearingfurcoatsandfortheladies’fluffles，they’rebeyondanythingyoucanfancy。”
　　“There’snothingyoucan’tfindinPetersburg，”theyoungercriedenthusiastically，“exceptfatherandmother，there’severything！”
　　“Exceptthem，there’severythingtobefound，myboy，”theelderdeclaredsententiously。
　　Raskolnikovgotupandwalkedintotheotherroomwherethestrongbox，thebed，andthechestofdrawershadbeen；theroomseemedtohimverytinywithoutfurnitureinit。Thepaperwasthesame；thepaperinthecornershowedwherethecaseofikonshadstood。Helookedatitandwenttothewindow。Theelderworkmanlookedathimaskance。
　　“Whatdoyouwant？”heaskedsuddenly。
　　InsteadofansweringRaskolnikovwentintothepassageandpulledthebell。Thesamebell，thesamecrackednote。Herangitasecondandathirdtime；helistenedandremembered。Thehideousandagonisinglyfearfulsensationhehadfeltthenbegantocomebackmoreandmorevividly。Heshudderedateveryringanditgavehimmoreandmoresatisfaction。
　　“Well，whatdoyouwant？Whoareyou？”theworkmanshouted，goingouttohim。Raskolnikovwentinsideagain。
　　“Iwanttotakeaflat，”hesaid。“Iamlookinground。”
　　“It’snotthetimetolookatroomsatnight！andyououghttocomeupwiththeporter。”
　　“Thefloorshavebeenwashed，willtheybepainted？”Raskolnikovwenton。“Istherenoblood？”
　　“Whatblood？”
　　“Why，theoldwomanandhersisterweremurderedhere。Therewasaperfectpoolthere。”
　　“Butwhoareyou？”theworkmancried，uneasy。
　　“WhoamI？”
　　“Yes。”
　　“Youwanttoknow？Cometothepolicestation，I’lltellyou。”
　　Theworkmenlookedathiminamazement。
　　“It’stimeforustogo，wearelate。Comealong，Alyoshka。Wemustlockup，”saidtheelderworkman。
　　“Verywell，comealong，”saidRaskolnikovindifferently，andgoingoutfirst，hewentslowlydownstairs。“Hey，porter，”hecriedinthegateway。
　　Attheentranceseveralpeoplewerestanding，staringatthepassers-by；thetwoporters，apeasantwoman，amaninalongcoatandafewothers。Raskolnikovwentstraightuptothem。
　　“Whatdoyouwant？”askedoneoftheporters。
　　“Haveyoubeentothepoliceoffice？”
　　“I’vejustbeenthere。Whatdoyouwant？”
　　“Isitopen？”
　　“Ofcourse。”
　　“Istheassistantthere？”
　　“Hewasthereforatime。Whatdoyouwant？”
　　Raskolnikovmadenoreply，butstoodbesidethemlostinthought。
　　“He’sbeentolookattheflat，”saidtheelderworkman，comingforward。
　　“Whichflat？”
　　“Whereweareatwork。‘Whyhaveyouwashedawaytheblood？’sayshe。‘Therehasbeenamurderhere，’sayshe，‘andI’vecometotakeit。’Andhebeganringingatthebell，allbutbrokeit。‘Cometothepolicestation，’sayshe。‘I’lltellyoueverythingthere。’Hewouldn’tleaveus。”
　　TheporterlookedatRaskolnikov，frowningandperplexed。
　　“Whoareyou？”heshoutedasimpressivelyashecould。
　　“IamRodionRomanovitchRaskolnikov，formerlyastudent，IliveinShil’shouse，notfarfromhere，flatNumber14，asktheporter，heknowsme。”Raskolnikovsaidallthisinalazy，dreamyvoice，notturninground，butlookingintentlyintothedarkeningstreet。
　　“Whyhaveyoubeentotheflat？”
　　“Tolookatit。”
　　“Whatistheretolookat？”
　　“Takehimstraighttothepolicestation，”themaninthelongcoatjerkedinabruptly。
　　Raskolnikovlookedintentlyathimoverhisshoulderandsaidinthesameslow，lazytones:
　　“Comealong。”
　　“Yes，takehim，”themanwentonmoreconfidently。“Whywashegoingintothat，what’sinhismind，eh？”
　　“He’snotdrunk，butGodknowswhat’sthematterwithhim，”mutteredtheworkman。
　　“Butwhatdoyouwant？”theportershoutedagain，beginningtogetangryinearnest—“Whyareyouhangingabout？”
　　“Youfunkthepolicestationthen？”saidRaskolnikovjeeringly。
　　“Howfunkit？Whyareyouhangingabout？”
　　“He’sarogue！”shoutedthepeasantwoman。
　　“Whywastetimetalkingtohim？”criedtheotherporter，ahugepeasantinafullopencoatandwithkeysonhisbelt。“Getalong！Heisarogueandnomistake。Getalong！”
　　AndseizingRaskolnikovbytheshoulderheflunghimintothestreet。Helurchedforward，butrecoveredhisfooting，lookedatthespectatorsinsilenceandwalkedaway。
　　“Strangeman！”observedtheworkman。
　　“Therearestrangefolksaboutnowadays，”saidthewoman。
　　“Youshouldhavetakenhimtothepolicestationallthesame，”saidthemaninthelongcoat。
　　“Betterhavenothingtodowithhim，”decidedthebigporter。“Aregularrogue！Justwhathewants，youmaybesure，butoncetakehimup，youwon’tgetridofhim。…Weknowthesort！”
　　“ShallIgothereornot？”thoughtRaskolnikov，standinginthemiddleofthethoroughfareatthecross-roads，andhelookedabouthim，asthoughexpectingfromsomeoneadecisiveword。Butnosoundcame，allwasdeadandsilentlikethestonesonwhichhewalked，deadtohim，tohimalone。…Allatonceattheendofthestreet，twohundredyardsaway，inthegatheringduskhesawacrowdandheardtalkandshouts。Inthemiddleofthecrowdstoodacarriage。…Alightgleamedinthemiddleofthestreet。“Whatisit？”Raskolnikovturnedtotherightandwentuptothecrowd。Heseemedtoclutchateverythingandsmiledcoldlywhenherecognisedit，forhehadfullymadeuphismindtogotothepolicestationandknewthatitwouldallsoonbeover。