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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!"
And Razumihin ventured to look more boldly at Avdotya Romanovna at last. He glanced at her often while he was talking, but only for a moment and looked away again at once. Avdotya Romanovna sat at the table, listening attentively, then got up again and began walking to and fro with her arms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question, without stopping her walk.
I knew it would be over when I went out. By the way, Potchinkov's house is only a few steps away. I certainly must go to Razumihin even if it were not close by... let him win his bet! Let us give him some satisfaction, too no matter!
Do you know the sort of people they take in here? And you his betrothed! You are his betrothed? Yes? Well, then, I'll tell you, your fiance is a scoundrel." "Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin, you are forgetting..." Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning. "Yes, yes, you are right, I did forget myself, I am ashamed of it," Razumihin made haste to apologise.
This was too much for Razumihin; he gripped him firmly by the shoulder. "Let you go? You dare tell me to let you go? Do you know what I'll do with you directly? I'll pick you up, tie you up in a bundle, carry you home under my arm and lock you up!" "Listen, Razumihin," Raskolnikov began quietly, apparently calm "can't you see that I don't want your benevolence?
The minute was so chosen that it was impossible to refuse, and the visitor squeezed his way through, hurrying and stumbling. Reaching the chair, he sat down, looking suspiciously at Razumihin. "No need to be nervous," the latter blurted out. "Rodya has been ill for the last five days and delirious for three, but now he is recovering and has got an appetite.
And the unconcealed, persistent, nervous, and discourteous sarcasm of Porfiry seemed strange to Razumihin beside that quiet and mournful face.
I'll tell you all about it another time, but now I'm busy. There was a time when I fancied... But no matter, another time!... What need is there for me to drink now? You have made me drunk without wine. I am drunk, Rodya! Good-bye, I'm going. I'll come again very soon." He went out. "He's a political conspirator, there's not a doubt about it," Razumihin decided, as he slowly descended the stairs.
Zossimov looked curiously at Raskolnikov. He did not stir. "But I say, Razumihin, I wonder at you. What a busybody you are!" Zossimov observed. "Maybe I am, but we will get him off anyway," shouted Razumihin, bringing his fist down on the table.
The latter was at home in his garret, busily writing at the moment, and he opened the door himself. It was four months since they had seen each other. Razumihin was sitting in a ragged dressing-gown, with slippers on his bare feet, unkempt, unshaven and unwashed. His face showed surprise. "Is it you?" he cried. He looked his comrade up and down; then after a brief pause, he whistled.
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