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Zossimov, who had begun his sage advice partly to make an effect before the ladies, was certainly somewhat mystified, when, glancing at his patient, he observed unmistakable mockery on his face. This lasted an instant, however. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began at once thanking Zossimov, especially for his visit to their lodging the previous night. "What! he saw you last night?"
"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!
Do you understand?" he shouted, shaking him by the collar and squeezing him against the wall. "Do you hear?" "Let me go, you drunken devil," said Zossimov, struggling and when he had let him go, he stared at him and went off into a sudden guffaw. Razumihin stood facing him in gloomy and earnest reflection.
Razumihin said, shaking his head in perplexity. "Let me alone let me alone all of you!" Raskolnikov cried in a frenzy. "Will you ever leave off tormenting me? I am not afraid of you! I am not afraid of anyone, anyone now! Get away from me! I want to be alone, alone, alone!" "Come along," said Zossimov, nodding to Razumihin. "But we can't leave him like this!"
"Not a doubt of it," replied Razumihin. "Porfiry doesn't give his opinion, but is examining all who have left pledges with her there." "Examining them?" Raskolnikov asked aloud. "Yes. What then?" "Nothing." "How does he get hold of them?" asked Zossimov. "Koch has given the names of some of them, other names are on the wrappers of the pledges and some have come forward of themselves."
This is his doctor, who has just had a look at him. I am a comrade of Rodya's, like him, formerly a student, and now I am nursing him; so don't you take any notice of us, but go on with your business." "Thank you. But shall I not disturb the invalid by my presence and conversation?" Pyotr Petrovitch asked of Zossimov. "N-no," mumbled Zossimov; "you may amuse him." He yawned again.
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.
I tell you so candidly." "Don't be irritated." Zossimov forced himself to laugh. "Assume that you are my first patient well we fellows just beginning to practise love our first patients as if they were our children, and some almost fall in love with them. And, of course, I am not rich in patients."
Zossimov was a tall, fat man with a puffy, colourless, clean-shaven face and straight flaxen hair. He wore spectacles, and a big gold ring on his fat finger. He was twenty-seven. He had on a light grey fashionable loose coat, light summer trousers, and everything about him loose, fashionable and spick and span; his linen was irreproachable, his watch-chain was massive.
Raskolnikov pronounced suddenly. "What?" asked Pyotr Petrovitch, not catching his words; but he received no reply. "That's all true," Zossimov hastened to interpose. "Isn't it so?" Pyotr Petrovitch went on, glancing affably at Zossimov.
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