“Well, you may abuse me, be angry with me if you like,” Porfiry Petrovitch began again, “but I can’t resist. Allow me one little question (I know I am troubling you). There is just one little notion I want to express, simply that I may not forget it.”

“Very good, tell me your little notion,” Raskolnikov stood waiting, pale and grave before him.

“Well, you see⁠ ⁠… I really don’t know how to express it properly.⁠ ⁠… It’s a playful, psychological idea.⁠ ⁠… When you were writing your article, surely you couldn’t have helped, he-he! fancying yourself⁠ ⁠… just a little, an ‘extraordinary’ man, uttering a new word in your sense.⁠ ⁠… That’s so, isn’t it?”

“Quite possibly,” Raskolnikov answered contemptuously.

Razumihin made a movement.