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When he came to himself he found he was sitting on a chair, supported on the right by some unknown man, while to his left stood another, holding some yellow water in a yellow glass. Nicodemus Thomich, standing before him, was looking at him fixedly. Raskolnikoff rose. "What is it? Are you ill?" asked the officer sharply.
All kinds of thoughts were at work in Raskolnikoff's brain. He was excited. "They don't even take pains to dissemble; they certainly don't mince matters as far as I am concerned: that is something, at all events! Since Porphyrius knew next to nothing about me, why on earth should he have spoken with Nicodemus Thomich Zametoff at all?
A new idea formed in his mind: to rise immediately, go straight to Nicodemus Thomich the ward officer and tell him all that had occurred; then to accompany him to his room, and show him all the things hidden away in the wall behind the paper. His desire to do all this was of such strength that he got up from the table to carry his design into execution.
"Where did you go, allow me to ask?" "In the streets." "Concise and clear." Raskolnikoff had replied sharply, in a broken voice, his face as pale as a handkerchief, and with his black swollen eyes averted from Elia Petrovitch's scrutinizing glance. "He can hardly stand on his legs. Do you want to ask anything more?" said Nicodemus Thomich. "Nothing," replied Elia Petrovitch.
The house is a perfect Noah's ark," put in the clerk, who had been listening. "The thing is clear, very clear," said Nicodemus Thomich decisively. "Not at all! Not at all!" cried Elia Petrovitch, in reply. Raskolnikoff took up his hat and made for the door, but he never reached it.
"Where did you go, allow me to ask?" "In the streets." "Concise and clear." Raskolnikoff had replied sharply, in a broken voice, his face as pale as a handkerchief, and with his black swollen eyes averted from Elia Petrovitch's scrutinizing glance. "He can hardly stand on his legs. Do you want to ask anything more?" said Nicodemus Thomich. "Nothing," replied Elia Petrovitch.
"Reflect, reflect a moment!" ran in his head. "No, better not think, get it off my shoulders." Suddenly he stood still as if shot. Nicodemus Thomich was at this moment hotly discussing something with Elia Petrovitch, the inspector of police, and the words caught Raskolnikoff's anxious attention. He listened. "It cannot be, they will both be released. In the first place, all is contradictory.
When he came to himself he found he was sitting on a chair, supported on the right by some unknown man, while to his left stood another, holding some yellow water in a yellow glass. Nicodemus Thomich, standing before him, was looking at him fixedly. Raskolnikoff rose. "What is it? Are you ill?" asked the officer sharply.
Nicodemus Thomich evidently wished to say more, but, turning to the clerk, who in turn glanced expressively at him, the latter became silent, all suddenly stopped speaking. It was strange. Raskolnikoff went out. As he descended the stairs he could hear an animated discussion had broken out, and above all, the interrogative voice of Nicodemus Thomich. In the street he came to himself.
A new idea formed in his mind: to rise immediately, go straight to Nicodemus Thomich the ward officer and tell him all that had occurred; then to accompany him to his room, and show him all the things hidden away in the wall behind the paper. His desire to do all this was of such strength that he got up from the table to carry his design into execution.
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