“That’s in Voskresensky,” put in Razumihin. “There are two storeys of rooms, let by a merchant called Yushin; I’ve been there.”
“Yes, rooms …”
“A disgusting place—filthy, stinking and, what’s more, of doubtful character. Things have happened there, and there are all sorts of queer people living there. And I went there about a scandalous business. It’s cheap, though …”
“I could not, of course, find out so much about it, for I am a stranger in Petersburg myself,” Pyotr Petrovitch replied huffily. “However, the two rooms are exceedingly clean, and as it is for so short a time … I have already taken a permanent, that is, our future flat,” he said, addressing Raskolnikov, “and I am having it done up. And meanwhile I am myself cramped for room in a lodging with my friend Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, in the flat of Madame Lippevechsel; it was he who told me of Bakaleyev’s house, too …”
“Lebeziatnikov?” said Raskolnikov slowly, as if recalling something.
“Yes, Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, a clerk in the Ministry. Do you know him?”
“Yes … no,” Raskolnikov answered.
“Excuse me, I fancied so from your inquiry. I was once his guardian. … A very nice young man and advanced. I like to meet young people: one learns new things from them.” Luzhin looked round hopefully at them all.
“How do you mean?” asked Razumihin.
“In the most serious and essential matters,” Pyotr Petrovitch replied, as though delighted at the question. “You see, it’s ten years since I visited