I don't understand you."

"Well, you all say," Raskolnikov went on, twisting his mouth into a
smile, "that I am mad. I thought just now that perhaps I really am mad,
and have only seen a phantom."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, who can tell? Perhaps I am really mad, and perhaps everything that
happened all these days may be only imagination."

"Ach, Rodya, you have been upset again!... But what did he say, what did
he come for?"

Raskolnikov did not answer. Razumihin thought a minute.

"Now let me tell you my story," he began, "I came to you, you were
asleep. Then we had dinner and then I went to Porfiry's, Zametov was
still with him. I tried to begin, but it was no use. I couldn't speak in
the right way. They don't seem to understand and can't understand, but
are not a bit ashamed. I drew Porfiry to the window, and began talking
to him, but it was still no use. He looked away and I looked away. At
last I shook my fist in his ugly face, and told him as a cousin I'd
brain him. He merely looked at me, I cursed and came away. That was
all. It was very stupid. To Zametov I didn't say a word. But, you see, I
thought I'd made a mess of it, but as I went downstairs a brilliant idea
struck me: why should we trouble? Of course if you were in any danger
or anything, but why need you care? You needn't care a hang for them. We
shall have a laugh at them afterwards, and if I were in your place I'd
mystify them more than ever. How ashamed they'll be afterwards! Hang
them! We can thrash them afterwards, but let's laugh at them now!"

"To be sure," answered Raskolnikov. "But what will you say to-morrow?"
he thought to himself. Strange to say, till that moment it had never
occurred to him to wonder what Razumihin would think when he knew. As he
thought it, Raskolnikov looked at him. Razumihin's account of his visit
to Porfiry had very little interest for him, so much had come and gone
since then.

In the corridor they came upon Luzhin; he had arrived punctually
at eight, and was looking for the number, so that all three went in
together without greeting or looking at one another. The young men
walked in first, while Pyotr Petrovitch, for good manners, lingered a
little in the passage, taking off his coat. Pulcheria Alexandrovna came
forward at once to greet him in the doorway, Dounia was welcoming her
brother. Pyotr Petrovitch walked in and quite amiably, though with
redoubled dignity, bowed to the ladies. He looked, however, as