PART IV
6. CHAPTER VI
(continued)
"I don't know what to wish you," said Raskolnikov, who had begun to
descend the stairs, but looked back again. "I should like to wish you
success, but your office is such a comical one."
"Why comical?" Porfiry Petrovitch had turned to go, but he seemed to
prick up his ears at this.
"Why, how you must have been torturing and harassing that poor Nikolay
psychologically, after your fashion, till he confessed! You must have
been at him day and night, proving to him that he was the murderer,
and now that he has confessed, you'll begin vivisecting him again.
'You are lying,' you'll say. 'You are not the murderer! You can't be!
It's not your own tale you are telling!' You must admit it's a comical
business!"
"He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just now that it
was not his own tale he was telling?"
"How could I help noticing it!"
"He-he! You are quick-witted. You notice everything! You've really a
playful mind! And you always fasten on the comic side . . . he-he!
They say that was the marked characteristic of Gogol, among the
writers."
"Yes, of Gogol."
"Yes, of Gogol. . . . I shall look forward to meeting you."
"So shall I."
Raskolnikov walked straight home. He was so muddled and bewildered
that on getting home he sat for a quarter of an hour on the sofa,
trying to collect his thoughts. He did not attempt to think about
Nikolay; he was stupefied; he felt that his confession was something
inexplicable, amazing--something beyond his understanding. But
Nikolay's confession was an actual fact. The consequences of this fact
were clear to him at once, its falsehood could not fail to be
discovered, and then they would be after him again. Till then, at
least, he was free and must do something for himself, for the danger
was imminent.
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