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Updated: August 15, 2024
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.
"That his hands should shake?" replied Zametoff. "No; that is quite likely. Yours would not, I suppose? I could not endure it, though. For a paltry reward of a hundred rubles to go on such a mission! And where? Into a banker's office with forged notes! I should certainly lose my head. Would not you?" Raskolnikoff felt again a strong impulse to make a face at him. A shiver ran down his back.
The paint on the floors was quite fresh, the workmen had left their things in the middle of the room: a small tub, some paint in an earthenware crock, and a big brush. In the twinkling of an eye, Raskolnikoff glided into the deserted apartment and hid himself as best he could up against the wall.
Sometimes we succeed by some such proceeding, but unfortunately that does not happen every day, as I conclusively discovered on the occasion in question. I had relied too much on your character." "But why tell me all this now?" stammered Raskolnikoff, without in any way understanding the object of his interlocutor's question. "Does he, perhaps, think me really innocent?"
In the mouth of a coarse man, who deprives himself of nothing, such a statement might afford food for laughter. Never mind, however, but there lies a theory in suffering. Mikolka is right. You won't escape, Rodion Romanovitch." Raskolnikoff rose and took his cap. Porphyrius Petrovitch did the same. "Are you going for a walk? The night will be a fine one, as long as we get no storm.
I somehow feel that I did not behave very well to you. You remember, I dare say, how we parted; we were both more or less excited. I fear we were wanting in the most common courtesy, and yet we are both of us gentlemen." "What can he be driving at now?" Raskolnikoff asked himself, looking inquiringly at Porphyrius.
On looking round he saw a dram shop near at hand; steps led down from the footpath to the basement, and Raskolnikoff saw two drunkards coming out at that moment, leaning heavily on each other and exchanging abusive language. The young man barely paused before he descended the steps. He had never before entered such a place, but he felt dizzy and was also suffering from intense thirst.
Raskolnikoff stopped and joined one or two listeners, took out a five-kopeck piece, and gave it to the girl. The latter at once stopped on a very high note which she had just reached, and cried to the man, "Come along," and both immediately moved on to another place. "Do you like street music?" said Raskolnikoff to a middle-aged man standing near him.
The clerk glanced at him without, however, any particular curiosity. He was a man with unkempt hair and an expressionless face. "There is nothing to be learned from him, evidently," thought Raskolnikoff. "Step in there to the head clerk," said the man, pointing to a farther room, which was quite full of people, among whom were two ladies.
"Do you hear me, Porphyrius Petrovitch, I shall not permit this!" "But, goodness gracious! what on earth is wrong with you?" asked the magistrate, disturbed to all appearances. "Batuchka! Rodion Romanovitch! My good friend! What on earth is the matter with you?" "I will not permit it!" repeated Raskolnikoff once again. "Batuchka! not so loud, I must request!
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