“Not the faintest! He is at the last gasp.⁠ ⁠… His head is badly injured, too⁠ ⁠… Hm⁠ ⁠… I could bleed him if you like, but⁠ ⁠… it would be useless. He is bound to die within the next five or ten minutes.”

“Better bleed him then.”

“If you like.⁠ ⁠… But I warn you it will be perfectly useless.”

At that moment other steps were heard; the crowd in the passage parted, and the priest, a little, grey old man, appeared in the doorway bearing the sacrament. A policeman had gone for him at the time of the accident. The doctor changed places with him, exchanging glances with him. Raskolnikov begged the doctor to remain a little while. He shrugged his shoulders and remained.