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Updated: August 14, 2024
Perhaps. Really, perhaps I am. And, by the way, do you believe in ghosts?" "What ghosts?" "Why, ordinary ghosts." "Do you believe in them?" "Perhaps not, pour vous plaire.... I wouldn't say no exactly." "Do you see them, then?" Svidrigailov looked at him rather oddly. "Marfa Petrovna is pleased to visit me," he said, twisting his mouth into a strange smile.
Dounia shuddered and came to herself. "It has acted violently," Svidrigailov muttered to himself, frowning. "Avdotya Romanovna, calm yourself! Believe me, he has friends. We will save him. Would you like me to take him abroad? I have money, I can get a ticket in three days. And as for the murder, he will do all sorts of good deeds yet, to atone for it. Calm yourself. He may become a great man yet.
The only fact that seemed certain was that one of them had stolen something and had even succeeded in selling it on the spot to a Jew, but would not share the spoil with his companion. Finally it appeared that the stolen object was a teaspoon belonging to the Vauxhall. It was missed and the affair began to seem troublesome. Svidrigailov paid for the spoon, got up, and walked out of the garden.
I should like very much to see her once more." "Don't hope for it." "I'm sorry. But you don't know me. Perhaps we may become better friends." "You think we may become friends?" "And why not?" Svidrigailov said, smiling. He stood up and took his hat. "I didn't quite intend to disturb you and I came here without reckoning on it... though I was very much struck by your face this morning."
And if you could make a good choice, at least, but I know it won't be for your happiness or hers, you will only be a laughing-stock to all good people. Then she went out and her train seemed to rustle. Isn't it nonsense, eh?" "But perhaps you are telling lies?" Raskolnikov put in. "I rarely lie," answered Svidrigailov thoughtfully, apparently not noticing the rudeness of the question.
You heard, no doubt, Avdotya Romanovna, when you were with them the story of the servant Philip who died of ill treatment he received six years ago, before the abolition of serfdom." "I heard, on the contrary, that this Philip hanged himself." "Quite so, but what drove him, or rather perhaps disposed him, to suicide was the systematic persecution and severity of Mr. Svidrigailov."
Was it destiny or some instinct bringing them together? Perhaps it was only fatigue, despair; perhaps it was not Svidrigailov but some other whom he needed, and Svidrigailov had simply presented himself by chance. Sonia? But what should he go to Sonia for now? To beg her tears again? He was afraid of Sonia, too. Sonia stood before him as an irrevocable sentence. He must go his own way or hers.
On the way, one question particularly worried him: had Svidrigailov been to Porfiry's? As far as he could judge, he would swear to it, that he had not. He pondered again and again, went over Porfiry's visit; no, he hadn't been, of course he hadn't. But if he had not been yet, would he go? Meanwhile, for the present he fancied he couldn't. Why?
Madame Resslich, my landlady, has the next room. Now, look this way. I will show you my chief piece of evidence: this door from my bedroom leads into two perfectly empty rooms, which are to let. Here they are... You must look into them with some attention." Svidrigailov occupied two fairly large furnished rooms.
He listened: someone was upbraiding and almost tearfully scolding, but he heard only one voice. Svidrigailov got up, shaded the light with his hand and at once he saw light through a crack in the wall; he went up and peeped through. The room, which was somewhat larger than his, had two occupants.
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