“Well, you will see. … She worries me; but you will see, you will see! I was so frightened. She was gazing at me with those eyes. I could scarcely sit still in my chair when he began introducing her, do you remember? It seems so strange, but Pyotr Petrovitch writes like that about her, and he introduces her to us—to you! So he must think a great deal of her.”
“People will write anything. We were talked about and written about, too. Have you forgotten? I am sure that she is a good girl, and that it is all nonsense.”
“God grant it may be!”
“And Pyotr Petrovitch is a contemptible slanderer,” Dounia snapped out, suddenly.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was crushed; the conversation was not resumed.
“I will tell you what I want with you,” said Raskolnikov, drawing Razumihin to the window.
“Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming,” Sonia said hurriedly, preparing to depart.
“One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have no secrets. You are not in our way. I want to have another word or two with you. Listen!” he turned suddenly to Razumihin again. “You know that … what’s his name … Porfiry Petrovitch?”
“I should think so! He is a relation. Why?” added the latter, with interest.
“Is not he managing that case … you know, about that murder? … You were speaking about it yesterday.”
“Yes … well?” Razumihin’s eyes opened wide.