“Yes, yes.⁠ ⁠… Of course it’s very annoying.⁠ ⁠…” Raskolnikov muttered in reply, but with such a preoccupied and inattentive air that Dounia gazed at him in perplexity.

“What else was it I wanted to say?” He went on trying to recollect. “Oh, yes; mother, and you too, Dounia, please don’t think that I didn’t mean to come and see you today and was waiting for you to come first.”

“What are you saying, Rodya?” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. She, too, was surprised.

“Is he answering us as a duty?” Dounia wondered. “Is he being reconciled and asking forgiveness as though he were performing a rite or repeating a lesson?”

“I’ve only just waked up, and wanted to go to you, but was delayed owing to my clothes; I forgot yesterday to ask her⁠ ⁠… Nastasya⁠ ⁠… to wash out the blood⁠ ⁠… I’ve only just dressed.”

“Blood! What blood?” Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked in alarm.