“I am a little giddy, but that’s not the point, I am so sad, so sad⁠ ⁠… like a woman. Look, what’s that? Look, look!”

“What is it?”

“Don’t you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack⁠ ⁠…”

They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady’s door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov’s garret.

“Queer! Nastasya, perhaps,” observed Razumihin.

“She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but⁠ ⁠… I don’t care! Goodbye!”

“What do you mean? I am coming with you, we’ll come in together!”