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The decrepit father was wheeled in to see Svidrigailov by the tender and sensible mother, who as usual began the conversation with various irrelevant questions.
And how did "the certificate of merit" come to be on the bed beside Katerina Ivanovna? It lay there by the pillow; Raskolnikov saw it. He walked away to the window. Lebeziatnikov skipped up to him. "She is dead," he said. "Rodion Romanovitch, I must have two words with you," said Svidrigailov, coming up to them. Lebeziatnikov at once made room for him and delicately withdrew.
And besides, there's a certain fact that has wound me up tremendously, but about that I... will keep quiet. Where are you off to?" he asked in alarm. Raskolnikov had begun getting up. He felt oppressed and stifled and, as it were, ill at ease at having come here. He felt convinced that Svidrigailov was the most worthless scoundrel on the face of the earth. "A-ach! Sit down, stay a little!"
You are, as they say, 'not without connections. What can you want with me, then, unless you've some special object?" "That's true that I have friends here," Svidrigailov admitted, not replying to the chief point. "I've met some already. I've been lounging about for the last three days, and I've seen them, or they've seen me. That's a matter of course.
And she had destroyed herself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childish soul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and torn from her a last scream of despair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, on a dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled.... Svidrigailov came to himself, got up from the bed and went to the window.
She stood still and did not know whether to call to him or not. Suddenly she saw Svidrigailov coming quickly from the direction of the Hay Market. He seemed to be approaching cautiously. He did not go on to the bridge, but stood aside on the pavement, doing all he could to avoid Raskolnikov's seeing him. He had observed Dounia for some time and had been making signs to her.
It's nothing really to do with me and I can't cure you, but, of course, you understand me." "Do you know that I am being followed?" asked Raskolnikov, looking inquisitively at him. "No, I know nothing about it," said Svidrigailov, seeming surprised. "Well, then, let us leave me alone," Raskolnikov muttered, frowning. "Very good, let us leave you alone."
"You urged me yourself to frankness just now, and at the first question you refuse to answer," Svidrigailov observed with a smile. "You keep fancying that I have aims of my own and so you look at me with suspicion. Of course it's perfectly natural in your position. But though I should like to be friends with you, I shan't trouble myself to convince you of the contrary.
Only this morning we heard about a gentleman who had just come to town. Nil Pavlitch, I say, what was the name of that gentleman who shot himself?" "Svidrigailov," someone answered from the other room with drowsy listlessness. Raskolnikov started. "Svidrigailov! Svidrigailov has shot himself!" he cried. "What, do you know Svidrigailov?" "Yes... I knew him.... He hadn't been here long."
Svidrigailov, I, too, do not desire and am not able to speak openly... in the presence of others... of certain matters of the greatest gravity. Moreover, my most weighty and urgent request has been disregarded...." Assuming an aggrieved air, Luzhin relapsed into dignified silence.
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