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"I had been very much annoyed yesterday," said Raskolnikoff, addressing the magistrate, with more or less of insolence in his smile, "and, wishing to get rid of them, I went out to hire lodgings where I could be sure of privacy, to effect which I had taken a certain amount of money. Mr.
The greasy purse, a little chamois-leather bag, was as full as it could hold. Raskolnikoff thrust it in his pocket without examining the contents. He then threw the crosses on his victim's breast, and hastily returned to the bedroom, taking the hatchet with him. His impatience was now intense, he seized the keys, and again set to work.
Hastening through the streets, and stumbling up the narrow stairway, he presented himself at the police office. With pale lips and fixed gaze, Raskolnikoff slowly advanced toward Elia Petrovitch. Resting his head upon the table behind which the lieutenant was seated, he wished to speak, but could only give vent to a few unintelligible sounds. "You are in pain, a chair! Pray sit down! Some water"
I don't know. What is your opinion, pray? But do, I beg, remove your cap; one would really fancy that you wanted to be off, and that pains me. I, you must know, am so contented." Raskolnikoff laid his cap down. He did not, however, become more loquacious; and, with knit brows, listened to Porphyrius's idle chatter.
Without saying a word, Raskolnikoff fixed on Porphyrius a firm and penetrating glance. Raskolnikoff was beginning to look sullen. He seemed to have been suspecting something for some time past. He looked round him with an irritable air. For a moment there was an ominous silence. Raskolnikoff was getting ready to go.
Later on, he recollected that he had been very prudent, very attentive, that he had taken every care not to soil himself. It did not take him long to find the keys; the same as the other day, they were all together on a steel ring. Having secured them, Raskolnikoff at once passed into the bedroom.
Stephan Trophinovitch reading the Miracle of the Swine with his female Colporteur; Raskolnikoff reading the Miracle of the Raising of Lazarus with his prostitute Sonia, are scenes that might strike an English mind as mere melodramatic sentiment, but those who have entered into the Dostoievsky secret know how much more than that there is in them, and how deep into the mystery of things and the irony of things they go.
Raskolnikoff distributed these, together with the purse, about his person, in order to make them less noticeable, and quitted the room again. All the time he had left the door wide open. He went away hurriedly, fearing pursuit.
"Would you like some tea?" "By and by," he muttered painfully, after which he closed his eyes and turned his face to the wall. Nastasia, standing over him, remained watching him for a while. "After all, he's perhaps ill," said she, before withdrawing. At two o'clock she returned with some soup. Raskolnikoff was still lying on the couch. He had not touched the tea.
Suspicious, isn't it? Well, I will explain to you, or rather confess no, not that exactly. I will give testimony, and you shall take it down that's it. So then, I swear that I was reading, and came here on purpose" Raskolnikoff blinked his eyes and paused "to read an account of the murder of the old woman." He finished almost in a whisper, eagerly watching Zametoff's face.
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