eyes, but sank back on to the pillow at once and turned to the wall. Zossimov watched him intently.
“Very good. … Going on all right,” he said lazily. “Has he eaten anything?”
They told him, and asked what he might have.
“He may have anything … soup, tea … mushrooms and cucumbers, of course, you must not give him; he’d better not have meat either, and … but no need to tell you that!” Razumihin and he looked at each other. “No more medicine or anything. I’ll look at him again tomorrow. Perhaps, today even … but never mind …”
“Tomorrow evening I shall take him for a walk,” said Razumihin. “We are going to the Yusupov garden and then to the Palais de Cristal .”
“I would not disturb him tomorrow at all, but I don’t know … a little, maybe … but we’ll see.”
“Ach, what a nuisance! I’ve got a housewarming party tonight; it’s only a step from here. Couldn’t he come? He could lie on the sofa. You are coming?” Razumihin said to Zossimov. “Don’t forget, you promised.”
“All right, only rather later. What are you going to do?”
“Oh, nothing—tea, vodka, herrings. There will be a pie … just our friends.”
“And who?”
“All neighbours here, almost all new friends, except my old uncle, and he is new too—he only arrived in Petersburg yesterday to see to some business of his. We meet once in five years.”
“What is he?”