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Updated: May 22, 2025
The three Poles were tremendously excited and were continually shouting at him: "The pan is a lajdak!" and muttering threats in Polish. Sonia had been listening with strained attention, though she too seemed unable to grasp it all; she seemed as though she had just returned to consciousness. She did not take her eyes off Raskolnikov, feeling that all her safety lay in him.
"What will you tell them? Come, brother... foo! what a pig you are!" "You are like a summer rose. And if only you knew how it suits you; a Romeo over six foot high! And how you've washed to-day you cleaned your nails, I declare. Eh? That's something unheard of! Why, I do believe you've got pomatum on your hair! Bend down." "Pig!" Raskolnikov laughed as though he could not restrain himself.
"Yes," muttered Sonia, "oh yes, it is," she added, hastily, as though in that lay her means of escape. "My landlady's clock has just struck... I heard it myself...." "I've come to you for the last time," Raskolnikov went on gloomily, although this was the first time. "I may perhaps not see you again..." "Are you... going away?" "I don't know... to-morrow...."
"Do you hear, sister," he repeated after them, making a last effort, "I am not delirious; this marriage is an infamy. Let me act like a scoundrel, but you mustn't... one is enough... and though I am a scoundrel, I wouldn't own such a sister. It's me or Luzhin! Go now...." "But you're out of your mind! Despot!" roared Razumihin; but Raskolnikov did not and perhaps could not answer.
Raskolnikov swallowed one spoonful greedily, then a second, then a third. But after giving him a few more spoonfuls of soup, Razumihin suddenly stopped, and said that he must ask Zossimov whether he ought to have more. Nastasya came in with two bottles of beer. "And will you have tea?" "Yes." "Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea, for tea we may venture on without the faculty.
"What, you here?" he began in surprise, speaking as though he'd known him all his life. "Why, Razumihin told me only yesterday you were unconscious. How strange! And do you know I've been to see you?" Raskolnikov knew he would come up to him. He laid aside the papers and turned to Zametov. There was a smile on his lips, and a new shade of irritable impatience was apparent in that smile.
"Quite so; go on." "At your mamma's request, through Afanasy Ivanovitch Vahrushin, of whom I presume you have heard more than once, a remittance is sent to you from our office," the man began, addressing Raskolnikov.
"What a simple-hearted fool he is!" "When was it?" Raskolnikov stopped still to recollect. "Two or three days before her death it must have been. But I am not going to redeem the things now," he put in with a sort of hurried and conspicuous solicitude about the things. "I've not more than a silver rouble left... after last night's accursed delirium!" He laid special emphasis on the delirium.
But almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into his face; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He had never seen and never suspected such an expression in his face. "A strange scene passed between us last time we met, Rodion Romanovitch. Our first interview, too, was a strange one; but then... and one thing after another!
A drunken soldier, smoking a cigarette, was walking near them in the road, swearing; he seemed to be trying to find his way somewhere, but had forgotten where. One beggar was quarrelling with another, and a man dead drunk was lying right across the road. Raskolnikov joined the throng of women, who were talking in husky voices. They were bare-headed and wore cotton dresses and goatskin shoes.
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