PART II
2. CHAPTER II
(continued)
He stopped suddenly, on coming out on the bank of the Little Neva,
near the bridge to Vassilyevsky Ostrov. "Why, he lives here, in that
house," he thought, "why, I have not come to Razumihin of my own
accord! Here it's the same thing over again. . . . Very interesting to
know, though; have I come on purpose or have I simply walked here by
chance? Never mind, I said the day before yesterday that I would go
and see him the day /after/; well, and so I will! Besides I really
cannot go further now."
He went up to Razumihin's room on the fifth floor.
The latter was at home in his garret, busily writing at the moment,
and he opened the door himself. It was four months since they had seen
each other. Razumihin was sitting in a ragged dressing-gown, with
slippers on his bare feet, unkempt, unshaven and unwashed. His face
showed surprise.
"Is it you?" he cried. He looked his comrade up and down; then after a
brief pause, he whistled. "As hard up as all that! Why, brother,
you've cut me out!" he added, looking at Raskolnikov's rags. "Come sit
down, you are tired, I'll be bound."
And when he had sunk down on the American leather sofa, which was in
even worse condition than his own, Razumihin saw at once that his
visitor was ill.
"Why, you are seriously ill, do you know that?" He began feeling his
pulse. Raskolnikov pulled away his hand.
"Never mind," he said, "I have come for this: I have no lessons. . . .
I wanted, . . . but I don't really want lessons. . . ."
"But I say! You are delirious, you know!" Razumihin observed, watching
him carefully.
"No, I am not."
Raskolnikov got up from the sofa. As he had mounted the stairs to
Razumihin's, he had not realised that he would be meeting his friend
face to face. Now, in a flash, he knew, that what he was least of all
disposed for at that moment was to be face to face with anyone in the
wide world. His spleen rose within him. He almost choked with rage at
himself as soon as he crossed Razumihin's threshold.
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