refuse him … Let me read it in the morning and that will be the end of it!”
“That I can’t do!” the girl cried, offended, “what right have you …”
“Dounia, you are hasty, too, be quiet, tomorrow … Don’t you see …” the mother interposed in dismay. “Better come away!”
“He is raving,” Razumihin cried tipsily, “or how would he dare! Tomorrow all this nonsense will be over … today he certainly did drive him away. That was so. And Luzhin got angry, too. … He made speeches here, wanted to show off his learning and he went out crestfallen. …”
“Then it’s true?” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
“Goodbye till tomorrow, brother,” said Dounia compassionately—“let us go, mother … Goodbye, Rodya.”
“Do you hear, sister,” he repeated after them, making a last effort, “I am not delirious; this marriage is—an infamy. Let me act like a scoundrel, but you mustn’t … one is enough … and though I am a scoundrel, I wouldn’t own such a sister. It’s me or Luzhin! Go now. …”
“But you’re out of your mind! Despot!” roared Razumihin; but Raskolnikov did not and perhaps could not answer. He lay down on the sofa, and turned to the wall, utterly exhausted.
Avdotya Romanovna looked with interest at Razumihin; her black eyes flashed; Razumihin positively started at her glance.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna stood overwhelmed.
“Nothing would induce me to go,” she whispered in despair to Razumihin. “I will stay somewhere here … escort Dounia home.”