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。
