“No.”

“R-rubbish!” Razumihin shouted, out of patience. “How do you know? You can’t answer for yourself! You don’t know anything about it.⁠ ⁠… Thousands of times I’ve fought tooth and nail with people and run back to them afterwards.⁠ ⁠… One feels ashamed and goes back to a man! So remember, Potchinkov’s house on the third storey.⁠ ⁠…”

“Why, Mr. Razumihin, I do believe you’d let anybody beat you from sheer benevolence.”

“Beat? Whom? Me? I’d twist his nose off at the mere idea! Potchinkov’s house, 47, Babushkin’s flat.⁠ ⁠…”

“I shall not come, Razumihin.” Raskolnikov turned and walked away.

“I bet you will,” Razumihin shouted after him. “I refuse to know you if you don’t! Stay, hey, is Zametov in there?”