“You are quite right, it is more terrible,” Porfiry agreed.

“Yes, you must have exaggerated! There is some mistake, I shall read it. You can’t think that! I shall read it.”

“All that is not in the article, there’s only a hint of it,” said Raskolnikov.

“Yes, yes.” Porfiry couldn’t sit still. “Your attitude to crime is pretty clear to me now, but⁠ ⁠… excuse me for my impertinence (I am really ashamed to be worrying you like this), you see, you’ve removed my anxiety as to the two grades getting mixed, but⁠ ⁠… there are various practical possibilities that make me uneasy! What if some man or youth imagines that he is a Lycurgus or Muhammad⁠—a future one of course⁠—and suppose he begins to remove all obstacles.⁠ ⁠… He has some great enterprise before him and needs money for it⁠ ⁠… and tries to get it⁠ ⁠… do you see?”

Zametov gave a sudden guffaw in his corner. Raskolnikov did not even raise his eyes to him.