a little, an ‘extraordinary’ man, uttering a new word in your sense. … That’s so, isn’t it?”
“Quite possibly,” Raskolnikov answered contemptuously.
Razumihin made a movement.
“And, if so, could you bring yourself in case of worldly difficulties and hardship or for some service to humanity—to overstep obstacles? … For instance, to rob and murder?”
And again he winked with his left eye, and laughed noiselessly just as before.
“If I did I certainly should not tell you,” Raskolnikov answered with defiant and haughty contempt.
“No, I was only interested on account of your article, from a literary point of view …”
“Foo! how obvious and insolent that is!” Raskolnikov thought with repulsion.
“Allow me to observe,” he answered dryly, “that I don’t consider myself a Muhammad or a Napoleon, nor any personage of that kind,