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Updated: June 22, 2025
I am his friend, and therefore I am your friend, too, I want to be... I had a presentiment... Last year there was a moment... though it wasn't a presentiment really, for you seem to have fallen from heaven. And I expect I shan't sleep all night... Zossimov was afraid a little time ago that he would go mad... that's why he mustn't be irritated." "What do you say?" cried the mother.
Among dozens perhaps hundreds of thousands hardly one is to be met with." At the word "madman," carelessly dropped by Zossimov in his chatter on his favourite subject, everyone frowned. Raskolnikov sat seeming not to pay attention, plunged in thought with a strange smile on his pale lips. He was still meditating on something. "Well, what about the man who was run over? I interrupted you!"
Pulcheria Alexandrovna smiled faintly, but Raskolnikov laughed aloud. "Where are you off to?" "I must go." "You need not at all. Stay. Zossimov has gone, so you must. Don't go. What's the time? Is it twelve o'clock? What a pretty watch you have got, Dounia. But why are you all silent again? I do all the talking." "It was a present from Marfa Petrovna," answered Dounia.
"Do you mean to suggest so unceremoniously that I too..." "Oh, my dear sir... how could I?... Come, that's enough," Razumihin concluded, and he turned abruptly to Zossimov to continue their previous conversation. Pyotr Petrovitch had the good sense to accept the disavowal. He made up his mind to take leave in another minute or two.
He did not attempt to move, but stared obstinately at the flower. "But what about the painter?" Zossimov interrupted Nastasya's chatter with marked displeasure. She sighed and was silent. "Why, he was accused of the murder," Razumihin went on hotly. "Was there evidence against him then?" "Evidence, indeed! Evidence that was no evidence, and that's what we have to prove.
"A familiar phenomenon," interposed Zossimov, "actions are sometimes performed in a masterly and most cunning way, while the direction of the actions is deranged and dependent on various morbid impressions it's like a dream." "Perhaps it's a good thing really that he should think me almost a madman," thought Raskolnikov.
And then you asked so piteously for fringe for your trousers. We tried to find out what sort of fringe, but we could not make it out. Now to business! Here are thirty-five roubles; I take ten of them, and shall give you an account of them in an hour or two. I will let Zossimov know at the same time, though he ought to have been here long ago, for it is nearly twelve.
He was engaged in such monologues when Zossimov, who had spent the night in Praskovya Pavlovna's parlour, came in. He was going home and was in a hurry to look at the invalid first. Razumihin informed him that Raskolnikov was sleeping like a dormouse. Zossimov gave orders that they shouldn't wake him and promised to see him again about eleven. "If he is still at home," he added. "Damn it all!
"Thank God; I was afraid the same thing as yesterday was beginning again," said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, crossing herself. "What is the matter, Rodya?" asked Avdotya Romanovna, distrustfully. "Oh, nothing! I remembered something," he answered, and suddenly laughed. "Well, if you remembered something; that's all right!... I was beginning to think..." muttered Zossimov, getting up from the sofa.
"I won't come in, I haven't time," he hastened to say when the door was opened. "He sleeps like a top, soundly, quietly, and God grant he may sleep ten hours. Nastasya's with him; I told her not to leave till I came. Now I am fetching Zossimov, he will report to you and then you'd better turn in; I can see you are too tired to do anything...." And he ran off down the corridor.
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