1. CHAPTER I
Raskolnikov got up, and sat down on the sofa. He waved his hand weakly
to Razumihin to cut short the flow of warm and incoherent consolations
he was addressing to his mother and sister, took them both by the hand
and for a minute or two gazed from one to the other without speaking.
His mother was alarmed by his expression. It revealed an emotion
agonisingly poignant, and at the same time something immovable, almost
insane. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.
Avdotya Romanovna was pale; her hand trembled in her brother's.
"Go home . . . with him," he said in a broken voice, pointing to
Razumihin, "good-bye till to-morrow; to-morrow everything . . . Is it
long since you arrived?"
"This evening, Rodya," answered Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "the train was
awfully late. But, Rodya, nothing would induce me to leave you now! I
will spend the night here, near you . . ."
"Don't torture me!" he said with a gesture of irritation.
"I will stay with him," cried Razumihin, "I won't leave him for a
moment. Bother all my visitors! Let them rage to their hearts'
content! My uncle is presiding there."
"How, how can I thank you!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning, once
more pressing Razumihin's hands, but Raskolnikov interrupted her
"I can't have it! I can't have it!" he repeated irritably, "don't
worry me! Enough, go away . . . I can't stand it!"
"Come, mamma, come out of the room at least for a minute," Dounia
whispered in dismay; "we are distressing him, that's evident."
"Mayn't I look at him after three years?" wept Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
"Stay," he stopped them again, "you keep interrupting me, and my ideas
get muddled. . . . Have you seen Luzhin?"
"No, Rodya, but he knows already of our arrival. We have heard, Rodya,
that Pyotr Petrovitch was so kind as to visit you today," Pulcheria
Alexandrovna added somewhat timidly.