ife as a district postmaster; gets a
little pension. He is sixty-five--not worth talking about.... But I
am fond of him. Porfiry Petrovitch, the head of the Investigation
Department here... But you know him."

"Is he a relation of yours, too?"

"A very distant one. But why are you scowling? Because you quarrelled
once, won't you come then?"

"I don't care a damn for him."

"So much the better. Well, there will be some students, a teacher, a
government clerk, a musician, an officer and Zametov."

"Do tell me, please, what you or he"--Zossimov nodded at
Raskolnikov--"can have in common with this Zametov?"

"Oh, you particular gentleman! Principles! You are worked by principles,
as it were by springs; you won't venture to turn round on your own
account. If a man is a nice fellow, that's the only principle I go upon.
Zametov is a delightful person."

"Though he does take bribes."

"Well, he does! and what of it? I don't care if he does take bribes,"
Razumihin cried with unnatural irritability. "I don't praise him for
taking bribes. I only say he is a nice man in his own way! But if one
looks at men in all ways--are there many good ones left? Why, I am sure
I shouldn't be worth a baked onion myself... perhaps with you thrown
in."

"That's too little; I'd give two for you."

"And I wouldn't give more than one for you. No more of your jokes!
Zametov is no more than a boy. I can pull his hair and one must draw him
not repel him. You'll never improve a man by repelling him, especially
a boy. One has to be twice as careful with a boy. Oh, you progressive
dullards! You don't understand. You harm yourselves running another man
down.... But if you want to know, we really have something in common."

"I should like to know what."

"Why, it's all about a house-painter.... We are getting him out of
a mess! Though indeed there's nothing to fear now. The matter is
absolutely self-evident. We only put on steam."

"A painter?"

"Why, haven't I told you about it? I only told you the beginning then
about the murder of the old pawnbroker-woman. Well, the painter is mixed
up in it..."

"Oh, I heard about that murder before and was rather interested in it...
partly... for one reason.... I read about it in the papers, too...."

"Lizaveta was murdered, too," Nastasya blurted out, suddenly addressing
Raskolnikov. She remained in the room all the time, standing by the door
listening.

"Lizaveta," murmured Raskolnikov hardly au