He felt all at once that it would be loathsome to pass that seat on which after the girl was gone, he had sat and pondered, and that it would be hateful, too, to meet that whiskered policeman to whom he had given the twenty copecks:
"Damn him!"
He walked, looking about him angrily and distractedly.
All his ideas now seemed to be circling round some single point, and he felt that there really was such a point, and that now, now, he was left facing that point--and for the first time, indeed, during the last two months.
"Damn it all!" he thought suddenly, in a fit of ungovernable fury.
"If it has begun, then it has begun. Hang the new life!
Good Lord, how stupid it is!...
And what lies I told to-day!
How despicably I fawned upon that wretched Ilya Petrovitch!
But that is all folly!
What do I care for them all, and my fawning upon them!
It is not that at all!
It is not that at all!"
Suddenly he stopped; a new utterly unexpected and exceedingly simple question perplexed and bitterly confounded him.
"If it all has really been done deliberately and not idiotically, if I really had a certain and definite object, how is it I did not even glance into the purse and don't know what I had there, for which I have undergone these agonies, and have deliberately undertaken this base, filthy degrading business?
And here I wanted at once to throw into the water the purse together with all the things which I had not seen either... how's that?"
Yes, that was so, that was all so.
Yet he had known it all before, and it was not a new question for him, even when it was decided in the night without hesitation and consideration, as though so it must be, as though it could not possibly be otherwise....
Yes, he had known it all, and understood it all; it surely had all been settled even yesterday at the moment when he was bending over the box and pulling the jewel-cases out of it....
Yes, so it was.
"It is because I am very ill," he decided grimly at last, "I have been worrying and fretting myself, and I don't know what I am doing....
Yesterday and the day before yesterday and all this time I have been worrying myself....
I shall get well and I shall not worry....
But what if I don't get well at all?
Good God, how sick I am of it all!"
He walked on without resting.
He had a terrible longing for some distraction, but he did not know what to do, what to attempt.
A new overwhelming sensation was gaining more and more mastery over him every moment; this was an immeasurable, almost physical, repulsion for everything surrounding him, an obstinate, malignant feeling of hatred.
All who met him were loathsome to him--he loathed their faces, their movements, their gestures.
If anyone had addressed him, he felt that he might have spat at him or bitten him....
He stopped suddenly, on coming out on the bank of the Little Neva, near the bridge to Vassilyevsky Ostrov.
"Why, he lives here, in that house," he thought, "why, I have not come to Razumihin of my own accord!
Here it's the same thing over again....
Very interesting to know, though; have I come on purpose or have I simply walked here by chance?
Never mind, I said the day before yesterday that I would go and see him the day _after_; well, and so I will!
Besides I really cannot go further now."
He went up to Razumihin's room on the fifth floor.
The latter was at home in his garret, busily writing at the moment, and he opened the door himself.
It was four months since they had seen each other.
Razumihin was sitting in a ragged dressing-gown, with slippers on his bare feet, unkempt, unshaven and unwashed.
His face showed surprise.
"Is it you?" he cried. He looked his comrade up and down; then after a brief pause, he whistled.
"As hard up as all that!
Why, brother, you've cut me out!" he added, looking at Raskolnikov's rags.
"Come sit down, you are tired, I'll be bound." And when he had sunk down on the American leather sofa, which was in even worse condition than his own, Razumihin saw at once that his visitor was ill.
"Why, you are seriously ill, do you know that?"
He began feeling his pulse. Raskolnikov pulled away his hand.
"Never mind," he said, "I have come for this: I have no lessons.... I wanted,... but I don't really want lessons...."
"But I say!
You are delirious, you know!" Razumihin observed, watching him carefully.