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"That his hands trembled?" observed Zametov, "yes, that's quite possible. That, I feel quite sure, is possible. Sometimes one can't stand things." "Can't stand that?" "Why, could you stand it then? No, I couldn't. For the sake of a hundred roubles to face such a terrible experience? To go with false notes into a bank where it's their business to spot that sort of thing!
The murderer seems to have been a desperate fellow, he risked everything in open daylight, was saved by a miracle but his hands shook, too. He did not succeed in robbing the place, he couldn't stand it. That was clear from the..." Raskolnikov seemed offended. "Clear? Why don't you catch him then?" he cried, maliciously gibing at Zametov. "Well, they will catch him." "Who? You?
In the first place, you've three times the brains he has; in the second, if you are not mad, you needn't care a hang that he has got such a wild idea; and thirdly, that piece of beef whose specialty is surgery has gone mad on mental diseases, and what's brought him to this conclusion about you was your conversation to-day with Zametov." "Zametov told you all about it?" "Yes, and he did well.
You oughtn't to have come out." "Oh, do I seem strange to you?" "Yes. What are you doing, reading the papers?" "Yes." "There's a lot about the fires." "No, I am not reading about the fires." Here he looked mysteriously at Zametov; his lips were twisted again in a mocking smile. "No, I am not reading about the fires," he went on, winking at Zametov.
Though I've been calling them all sorts of names just now, I do respect them all... though I don't respect Zametov, I like him, for he is a puppy, and that bullock Zossimov, because he is an honest man and knows his work. But enough, it's all said and forgiven. Is it forgiven? Well, then, let's go on.
"I don't care a damn for him." "So much the better. Well, there will be some students, a teacher, a government clerk, a musician, an officer and Zametov." "Do tell me, please, what you or he" Zossimov nodded at Raskolnikov "can have in common with this Zametov?" "Oh, you particular gentleman! Principles!
Potchinkov's house, 47, Babushkin's flat...." "I shall not come, Razumihin." Raskolnikov turned and walked away. "I bet you will," Razumihin shouted after him. "I refuse to know you if you don't! Stay, hey, is Zametov in there?" "Yes." "Did you see him?" "Yes." "Talked to him?" "Yes." "What about? Confound you, don't tell me then. Potchinkov's house, 47, Babushkin's flat, remember!"
But as soon as I did land on this place, I soon got to know all your affairs all, all, brother, I know everything; Nastasya here will tell you. I made the acquaintance of Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, and the house-porter and Mr. Zametov, Alexandr Grigorievitch, the head clerk in the police office, and, last, but not least, of Pashenka; Nastasya here knows...."
Raskolnikov laughed, "it's all right, my dear boy," he added, slapping Zametov on the shoulder. "I am not speaking from temper, but in a friendly way, for sport, as that workman of yours said when he was scuffling with Dmitri, in the case of the old woman...." "How do you know about it?" "Perhaps I know more about it than you do." "How strange you are.... I am sure you are still very unwell.
It's a pleasure to see you and I am glad to say so." Ilya Petrovitch held out his hand. "I only wanted... I came to see Zametov." "I understand, I understand, and it's a pleasure to see you." "I... am very glad... good-bye," Raskolnikov smiled. He went out; he reeled, he was overtaken with giddiness and did not know what he was doing.
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