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My mother has just said it is like a tomb." "You gave us everything yesterday," Sonia said suddenly, in reply, in a loud rapid whisper; and again she looked down in confusion. Her lips and chin were trembling once more. She had been struck at once by Raskolnikov's poor surroundings, and now these words broke out spontaneously. A silence followed.
She stood still and did not know whether to call to him or not. Suddenly she saw Svidrigailov coming quickly from the direction of the Hay Market. He seemed to be approaching cautiously. He did not go on to the bridge, but stood aside on the pavement, doing all he could to avoid Raskolnikov's seeing him. He had observed Dounia for some time and had been making signs to her.
Raskolnikov's pale face flushed, a shudder passed over him, his eyes glowed. "Mother," he said, firmly and insistently, "this is Sofya Semyonovna Marmeladov, the daughter of that unfortunate Mr. Marmeladov, who was run over yesterday before my eyes, and of whom I was just telling you." Pulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, and slightly screwed up her eyes.
So you don't believe me? But still you do believe me, you believe a quarter; I'll soon make you believe the whole, because I have a sincere liking for you and genuinely wish you good." Raskolnikov's lips trembled. "Yes, I do," went on Porfiry, touching Raskolnikov's arm genially, "you must take care of your illness. Besides, your mother and sister are here now; you must think of them.
They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean?
"Nastasya, don't be bashful, but help me that's it," and in spite of Raskolnikov's resistance he changed his linen. The latter sank back on the pillows and for a minute or two said nothing. "It will be long before I get rid of them," he thought. "What money was all that bought with?" he asked at last, gazing at the wall. "Money?
"Yes, a capital thing," he almost shouted at last, suddenly staring at Raskolnikov and stopping short two steps from him. This stupid repetition was too incongruous in its ineptitude with the serious, brooding and enigmatic glance he turned upon his visitor. But this stirred Raskolnikov's spleen more than ever and he could not resist an ironical and rather incautious challenge.
He sat down with his elbow on the table, leaned his head on his hand and looked away sullenly, prepared to listen. "In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse! I shall be there if I am not in a worse place," he muttered to himself. Sonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved hesitatingly to the table. She took the book however.
Sometimes days and even weeks of gloomy silence and tears would be succeeded by a period of hysterical animation, and the invalid would begin to talk almost incessantly of her son, of her hopes of his future.... Her fancies were sometimes very strange. Five months after Raskolnikov's confession, he was sentenced. Razumihin and Sonia saw him in prison as often as it was possible.
Raskolnikov's judgment was uttered too lightly and hastily: there was something about Svidrigailov which gave him a certain original, even a mysterious character. As concerned his sister, Raskolnikov was convinced that Svidrigailov would not leave her in peace. But it was too tiresome and unbearable to go on thinking and thinking about this.
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