you wouldn’t believe! ‘I am not worth his little finger,’ he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him today in the Palais de Cristal , that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly—put out your tongue at him: ‘There now, what do you make of it?’ It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it’s what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn’t there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance …”
“Ah! … he too … but why did they put me down as mad?”
“Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother. … What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it’s clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances … and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness … I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own … I tell you, he’s mad on mental diseases. But don’t you mind him …”
For half a minute both were silent.
“Listen, Razumihin,” began Raskolnikov, “I want to tell you plainly: I’ve just been at a deathbed, a clerk who died … I gave them all my money … and besides I’ve just been kissed by someone who, if I had killed anyone, would just the same … in fact I saw someone else there … with a flame-coloured feather … but I am talking nonsense; I am very