1. CHAPTER I
"At what time?"
"And where did you go, my I ask?"
"Along the street."
"Short and clear."
Raskolnikov, white as a handkerchief, had answered sharply, jerkily,
without dropping his black feverish eyes before Ilya Petrovitch's
"He can scarcely stand upright. And you . . ." Nikodim Fomitch was
"No matter," Ilya Petrovitch pronounced rather peculiarly.
Nikodim Fomitch would have made some further protest, but glancing at
the head clerk who was looking very hard at him, he did not speak.
There was a sudden silence. It was strange.
"Very well, then," concluded Ilya Petrovitch, "we will not detain
Raskolnikov went out. He caught the sound of eager conversation on his
departure, and above the rest rose the questioning voice of Nikodim
Fomitch. In the street, his faintness passed off completely.
"A search--there will be a search at once," he repeated to himself,
hurrying home. "The brutes! they suspect."
His former terror mastered him completely again.