“What am I to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch?” began Pulcheria Alexandrovna, almost weeping. “How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterday he insisted so earnestly on our refusing Pyotr Petrovitch and now we are ordered not to receive Rodya! He will come on purpose if he knows, and⁠ ⁠… what will happen then?”

“Act on Avdotya Romanovna’s decision,” Razumihin answered calmly at once.

“Oh, dear me! She says⁠ ⁠… goodness knows what she says, she doesn’t explain her object! She says that it would be best, at least, not that it would be best, but that it’s absolutely necessary that Rodya should make a point of being here at eight o’clock and that they must meet.⁠ ⁠… I didn’t want even to show him the letter, but to prevent him from coming by some stratagem with your help⁠ ⁠… because he is so irritable.⁠ ⁠… Besides I don’t understand about that drunkard who died and that daughter, and how he could have given the daughter all the money⁠ ⁠… which⁠ ⁠…”

“Which cost you such sacrifice, mother,” put in Avdotya Romanovna.