Razumihin stood lost in thought and excitement, making a silent conclusion.
“He’s a political conspirator! He must be. And he’s on the eve of some desperate step, that’s certain. It can only be that! And … and Dounia knows,” he thought suddenly.
“So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you,” he said, weighing each syllable, “and you’re going to see a man who says we need more air, and so of course that letter … that too must have something to do with it,” he concluded to himself.
“What letter?”
“She got a letter today. It upset her very much—very much indeed. Too much so. I began speaking of you, she begged me not to. Then … then she said that perhaps we should very soon have to part … then she began warmly thanking me for something; then she went to her room and locked herself in.”
“She got a letter?” Raskolnikov asked thoughtfully.
“Yes, and you didn’t know? hm …”
They were both silent.
“Goodbye, Rodion. There was a time, brother, when I. … Never mind, goodbye. You see, there was a time. … Well, goodbye! I must be off too. I am not going to drink. There’s no need now. …