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Updated: May 25, 2025
He seemed to have completely forgotten Zametov. The silence lasted for some time. "Why don't you drink your tea? It's getting cold," said Zametov. "What! Tea? Oh, yes...." Raskolnikov sipped the glass, put a morsel of bread in his mouth and, suddenly looking at Zametov, seemed to remember everything and pulled himself together. At the same moment his face resumed its original mocking expression.
Any shock, any irritating sensation stimulated and revived his energies at once, but his strength failed as quickly when the stimulus was removed. Zametov, left alone, sat for a long time in the same place, plunged in thought. Raskolnikov had unwittingly worked a revolution in his brain on a certain point and had made up his mind for him conclusively. "Ilya Petrovitch is a blockhead," he decided.
Yes, there it lay on the sofa under the quilt, but it was so covered with dust and grime that Zametov could not have seen anything on it. "Bah, Zametov! The police office! And why am I sent for to the police office? Where's the notice? Bah! I am mixing it up; that was then. I looked at my sock then, too, but now... now I have been ill. But what did Zametov come for?
But as for my looking suspiciously at your fainting fit that affair has been cleared up splendidly! Bigotry and fanaticism! I understand your indignation. Perhaps you are changing your lodging on account of your family's arriving?" "No, I only looked in... I came to ask... I thought that I should find Zametov here." "Oh, yes! Of course, you've made friends, I heard. Well, no, Zametov is not here.
"The explosive one?" "No, your friend Razumihin." "You must have a jolly life, Mr. Zametov; entrance free to the most agreeable places. Who's been pouring champagne into you just now?" "We've just been... having a drink together.... You talk about pouring it into me!" "By way of a fee! You profit by everything!"
"I see, brother," he said a moment later, "that I have been playing the fool again. I thought I should amuse you with my chatter, and I believe I have only made you cross." "Was it you I did not recognise when I was delirious?" Raskolnikov asked, after a moment's pause without turning his head. "Yes, and you flew into a rage about it, especially when I brought Zametov one day." "Zametov?
Why did he say bluntly, 'With her'? Why did Zametov add that I spoke artfully? Why do they speak in that tone? Yes, the tone.... Razumihin is sitting here, why does he see nothing? That innocent blockhead never does see anything! Feverish again! Did Porfiry wink at me just now? Of course it's nonsense! What could he wink for? Are they trying to upset my nerves or are they teasing me?
Foo! what a charming boy!" Here Raskolnikov broke into a nervous laugh right in Zametov's face. The latter drew back, more amazed than offended. "Foo! how strange you are!" Zametov repeated very seriously. "I can't help thinking you are still delirious." "I am delirious? You are fibbing, my cock-sparrow! So I am strange? You find me curious, do you?" "Yes, curious."
"Oh, come, don't we all think ourselves Napoleons now in Russia?" Porfiry Petrovitch said with alarming familiarity. Something peculiar betrayed itself in the very intonation of his voice. "Perhaps it was one of these future Napoleons who did for Alyona Ivanovna last week?" Zametov blurted out from the corner. Raskolnikov did not speak, but looked firmly and intently at Porfiry.
Zametov will make a scandal in the French style in a house of bad reputation, over a glass of champagne... that's all your Zametov is good for! While I'm perhaps, so to speak, burning with devotion and lofty feelings, and besides I have rank, consequence, a post! I am married and have children, I fulfil the duties of a man and a citizen, but who is he, may I ask?
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