it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His

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it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His,2021欧洲杯手机投注网365it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. Hisit was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His,it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His,it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His

it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His,欧洲杯外围网址it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His,it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His2021欧洲杯投注网

it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His,欧洲杯什么app能下注it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His

it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His,2021欧洲杯手机投注网,2021欧洲杯线上投注it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His

it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His,2021欧洲杯手机投注网it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His欧洲杯足彩,it was so close and the smell of paint," said Raskolnikov. "No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times, brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais de Crystal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first, you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you suddenly- put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..." "Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?" "Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances.... and how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..." For half a minute both were silent. "Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by some one who, if I had killed any one, would just the same... in fact I saw some one else there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..." "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked anxiously. "I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!" "What is it?" "Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..." They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret. "Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin. "She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!" "What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!" "I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!" "What's the matter with you, Rodya?" "Nothing... come along... you shall be witness." They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself. When they reached the door they heard voices in the room. "What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfounded. His

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