if I am not in a worse place,” he muttered to himself.
Sonia heard Raskolnikov’s request distrustfully and moved hesitatingly to the table. She took the book however.
“Haven’t you read it?” she asked, looking up at him across the table.
Her voice became sterner and sterner.
“Long ago. … When I was at school. Read!”
“And haven’t you heard it in church?”
“I … haven’t been. Do you often go?”
“N-no,” whispered Sonia.
Raskolnikov smiled.
“I understand. … And you won’t go to your father’s funeral tomorrow?”
“Yes, I shall. I was at church last week, too … I had a requiem service.”
“For whom?”
“For Lizaveta. She was killed with an axe.”
His nerves were more and more strained. His head began to go round.
“Were you friends with Lizaveta?”
“Yes. …