“Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes, depraved vile, sensual man!”

“Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! O la vertu va-t-elle se nicher? But you know I shall tell you these things on purpose, for the pleasure of hearing your outcries!”

“I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself,” muttered Raskolnikov angrily.

Svidrigaïlov laughed heartily; finally he called Philip, paid his bill, and began getting up.

“I say, but I am drunk, assez causé ,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“I should rather think it must be a pleasure!” cried Raskolnikov, getting up. “No doubt it is a pleasure for a worn-out profligate to describe such adventures with a monstrous project of the same sort in his mind⁠—especially under such circumstances and to such a man as me.⁠ ⁠… It’s stimulating!”