“Well, go to hell then,” he said gently and thoughtfully. “Stay,” he roared, as Raskolnikov was about to move. “Listen to me. Let me tell you, that you are all a set of babbling, posing idiots! If you’ve any little trouble you brood over it like a hen over an egg. And you are plagiarists even in that! There isn’t a sign of independent life in you! You are made of spermaceti ointment and you’ve lymph in your veins instead of blood. I don’t believe in any one of you! In any circumstances the first thing for all of you is to be unlike a human being! Stop!” he cried with redoubled fury, noticing that Raskolnikov was again making a movement⁠—“hear me out! You know I’m having a housewarming this evening, I dare say they’ve arrived by now, but I left my uncle there⁠—I just ran in⁠—to receive the guests. And if you weren’t a fool, a common fool, a perfect fool, if you were an original instead of a translation⁠ ⁠… you see, Rodya, I recognise you’re a clever fellow, but you’re a fool!⁠—and if you weren’t a fool you’d come round to me this evening instead of wearing out your boots in the street! Since you have gone out, there’s no help for it! I’d give you a snug easy chair, my landlady has one⁠ ⁠… a cup of tea, company.⁠ ⁠… Or you could lie on the sofa⁠—anyway you would be with us.⁠ ⁠… Zossimov will be there too. Will you come?”