Part 4

Chapter 6

12 min

When he remembered the scene afterwards, this is how Raskolnikov saw it.

When Raskolnikov remembered the scene later, this was how he saw it.

The noise behind the door increased, and suddenly the door was opened a little.

The noise behind the door grew louder, and suddenly the door opened slightly.

“What is it?” cried Porfiry Petrovitch, annoyed. “Why, I gave orders...”

“What is it?” Porfiry Petrovitch cried, annoyed. “But I gave orders...”

For an instant there was no answer, but it was evident that there were several persons at the door, and that they were apparently pushing somebody back.

For a moment, there was no answer. But several people were clearly at the door, apparently pushing someone back.

“What is it?” Porfiry Petrovitch repeated, uneasily.

“What is it?” Porfiry Petrovitch repeated nervously.

“The prisoner Nikolay has been brought,” someone answered.

“The prisoner Nikolay has been brought in,” someone answered.

“He is not wanted! Take him away! Let him wait! What’s he doing here? How irregular!” cried Porfiry, rushing to the door.

“He’s not needed! Take him away! Let him wait! What’s he doing here? This is completely improper!” cried Porfiry, rushing to the door.

“But he...” began the same voice, and suddenly ceased.

“But he...” the same voice began, then suddenly stopped.

Two seconds, not more, were spent in actual struggle, then someone gave a violent shove, and then a man, very pale, strode into the room.

The struggle lasted no more than two seconds. Then someone gave a violent shove, and a very pale man strode into the room.

This man’s appearance was at first sight very strange. He stared straight before him, as though seeing nothing. There was a determined gleam in his eyes; at the same time there was a deathly pallor in his face, as though he were being led to the scaffold. His white lips were faintly twitching.

At first glance, the man looked very strange. He stared straight ahead, as if he saw nothing. His eyes had a determined gleam. At the same time, his face was deathly pale, as if he were being led to his execution. His white lips twitched slightly.

He was dressed like a workman and was of medium height, very young, slim, his hair cut in a round crop, with thin spare features. The man whom he had thrust back followed him into the room and succeeded in seizing him by the shoulder; he was a warder; but Nikolay pulled his arm away.

He was dressed like a worker. He was of medium height, very young and slim, with short, evenly cropped hair and a thin, lean face. The man he had pushed back followed him into the room and managed to grab his shoulder. The man was a guard, but Nikolay pulled his arm away.

Several persons crowded inquisitively into the doorway. Some of them tried to get in. All this took place almost instantaneously.

Several people crowded into the doorway, curious about what was happening. Some tried to get in. It all happened almost instantly.

“Go away, it’s too soon! Wait till you are sent for!... Why have you brought him too soon?” Porfiry Petrovitch muttered, extremely annoyed, and as it were thrown out of his reckoning.

“Go away, it’s too soon! Wait until you’re called for! Why did you bring him so soon?” Porfiry Petrovitch muttered. He was extremely annoyed and seemed thrown off balance.

But Nikolay suddenly knelt down.

“What’s the matter?” cried Porfiry, surprised.

“What’s the matter?” Porfiry cried, surprised.

“I am guilty! Mine is the sin! I am the murderer,” Nikolay articulated suddenly, rather breathless, but speaking fairly loudly.

“I’m guilty! The sin is mine! I’m the murderer,” Nikolay said suddenly. He was rather breathless, but spoke fairly loudly.

For ten seconds there was silence as though all had been struck dumb; even the warder stepped back, mechanically retreated to the door, and stood immovable.

For ten seconds, there was silence, as if everyone had been struck speechless. Even the guard stepped back. He moved mechanically toward the door and stood motionless.

“What is it?” cried Porfiry Petrovitch, recovering from his momentary stupefaction.

“What is it?” cried Porfiry Petrovitch, recovering from his brief shock.

“I... am the murderer,” repeated Nikolay, after a brief pause.

“I... am the murderer,” Nikolay repeated after a brief pause.

“What... you... what... whom did you kill?” Porfiry Petrovitch was obviously bewildered.

“What... you... what... who did you kill?” Porfiry Petrovitch was clearly confused.

Nikolay again was silent for a moment.

Nikolay was silent for a moment again.

“Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Ivanovna, I... killed... with an axe. Darkness came over me,” he added suddenly, and was again silent.

“Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Ivanovna, I... killed... with an axe. Darkness came over me,” he added suddenly. Then he fell silent again.

He still remained on his knees. Porfiry Petrovitch stood for some moments as though meditating, but suddenly roused himself and waved back the uninvited spectators. They instantly vanished and closed the door. Then he looked towards Raskolnikov, who was standing in the corner, staring wildly at Nikolay and moved towards him, but stopped short, looked from Nikolay to Raskolnikov and then again at Nikolay, and seeming unable to restrain himself darted at the latter.

He was still on his knees. Porfiry Petrovitch stood for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought. Then he suddenly roused himself and waved the uninvited spectators away. They vanished at once and closed the door. He looked toward Raskolnikov, who stood in the corner, staring wildly at Nikolay. Porfiry Petrovitch moved toward him, but stopped short. He looked from Nikolay to Raskolnikov, then back at Nikolay. Seemingly unable to restrain himself, he rushed at Nikolay.

“You’re in too great a hurry,” he shouted at him, almost angrily. “I didn’t ask you what came over you.... Speak, did you kill them?”

“You’re in too much of a hurry,” he shouted at him, almost angrily. “I didn’t ask you what came over you.... Tell me, did you kill them?”

“I am the murderer.... I want to give evidence,” Nikolay pronounced.

“I am the murderer.... I want to testify,” Nikolay said.

“Ach! What did you kill them with?”

“Oh! What did you kill them with?”

“An axe. I had it ready.”

“Ach, he is in a hurry! Alone?”

“Oh, he’s in a hurry! Alone?”

Nikolay did not understand the question.

Nikolay didn't understand the question.

“Did you do it alone?”

“Yes, alone. And Mitka is not guilty and had no share in it.”

“Yes, alone. And Mitka is not guilty. He had nothing to do with it.”

“Don’t be in a hurry about Mitka! A-ach! How was it you ran downstairs like that at the time? The porters met you both!”

“Don’t be so quick about Mitka! Ah! How did you happen to run downstairs like that at the time? The porters met both of you!”

“It was to put them off the scent... I ran after Mitka,” Nikolay replied hurriedly, as though he had prepared the answer.

“It was to throw them off... I ran after Mitka,” Nikolay replied quickly, as if he had prepared his answer.

“I knew it!” cried Porfiry, with vexation. “It’s not his own tale he is telling,” he muttered as though to himself, and suddenly his eyes rested on Raskolnikov again.

“I knew it!” Porfiry cried in frustration. “He’s not telling his own story,” he muttered, as if to himself. Then his eyes suddenly turned back to Raskolnikov.

He was apparently so taken up with Nikolay that for a moment he had forgotten Raskolnikov. He was a little taken aback.

Apparently, he was so focused on Nikolay that he had forgotten Raskolnikov for a moment. He was a little startled.

“My dear Rodion Romanovitch, excuse me!” he flew up to him, “this won’t do; I’m afraid you must go... it’s no good your staying... I will... you see, what a surprise!... Good-bye!”

“My dear Rodion Romanovitch, forgive me!” He rushed up to him. “This won’t do. I’m afraid you must go... there’s no point in staying... I will... you see, what a surprise!... Goodbye!”

And taking him by the arm, he showed him to the door.

He took him by the arm and showed him to the door.

“I suppose you didn’t expect it?” said Raskolnikov who, though he had not yet fully grasped the situation, had regained his courage.

“I suppose you didn’t expect it?” said Raskolnikov. He had regained his courage, though he still didn’t fully understand the situation.

“You did not expect it either, my friend. See how your hand is trembling! He-he!”

“You didn't expect it either, my friend. Look how your hand is shaking! He-he!”

“You’re trembling, too, Porfiry Petrovitch!”

“Yes, I am; I didn’t expect it.”

“Yes, I am. I didn’t expect it.”

They were already at the door; Porfiry was impatient for Raskolnikov to be gone.

They were already at the door. Porfiry was eager for Raskolnikov to leave.

“And your little surprise, aren’t you going to show it to me?” Raskolnikov said, sarcastically.

“And your little surprise, aren’t you going to show it to me?” Raskolnikov said sarcastically.

“Why, his teeth are chattering as he asks, he-he! You are an ironical person! Come, till we meet!”

“His teeth are chattering as he asks, he-he! You have a sense of irony! Well, see you again!”

“I believe we can say good-bye!”

“I think we can say goodbye!”

“That’s in God’s hands,” muttered Porfiry, with an unnatural smile.

“That’s in God’s hands,” Porfiry muttered with an unnatural smile.

As he walked through the office, Raskolnikov noticed that many people were looking at him. Among them he saw the two porters from the house, whom he had invited that night to the police station. They stood there waiting. But he was no sooner on the stairs than he heard the voice of Porfiry Petrovitch behind him. Turning round, he saw the latter running after him, out of breath.

As he walked through the office, Raskolnikov noticed that many people were looking at him. Among them were the two porters from the house, whom he had invited to the police station that night. They stood there waiting. But as soon as he reached the stairs, he heard Porfiry Petrovitch's voice behind him. He turned and saw Porfiry running after him, out of breath.

“One word, Rodion Romanovitch; as to all the rest, it’s in God’s hands, but as a matter of form there are some questions I shall have to ask you... so we shall meet again, shan’t we?”

“One more thing, Rodion Romanovitch. As for everything else, it’s in God’s hands. But as a formality, I’ll have to ask you some questions... so we’ll meet again, won’t we?”

And Porfiry stood still, facing him with a smile.

And Porfiry stood still, smiling as he faced him.

“Shan’t we?” he added again.

“Won’t we?” he added again.

He seemed to want to say something more, but could not speak out.

He seemed to want to say something more, but he couldn't speak.

“You must forgive me, Porfiry Petrovitch, for what has just passed... I lost my temper,” began Raskolnikov, who had so far regained his courage that he felt irresistibly inclined to display his coolness.

“Please forgive me, Porfiry Petrovitch, for what just happened... I lost my temper,” Raskolnikov began. He had regained enough courage to feel an irresistible urge to show how calm he was.

“Don’t mention it, don’t mention it,” Porfiry replied, almost gleefully. “I myself, too... I have a wicked temper, I admit it! But we shall meet again. If it’s God’s will, we may see a great deal of one another.”

“Don’t mention it, don’t mention it,” Porfiry replied, almost gleefully. “I have a terrible temper myself, I admit it! But we’ll meet again. If it’s God’s will, we may see a lot of each other.”

“And will get to know each other through and through?” added Raskolnikov.

“And get to know each other completely?” added Raskolnikov.

“Yes; know each other through and through,” assented Porfiry Petrovitch, and he screwed up his eyes, looking earnestly at Raskolnikov. “Now you’re going to a birthday party?”

“Yes, know each other inside and out,” agreed Porfiry Petrovitch. He narrowed his eyes and looked intently at Raskolnikov. “Are you going to a birthday party now?”

“To a funeral.”

“Of course, the funeral! Take care of yourself, and get well.”

“Of course, the funeral! Take care of yourself and get well.”

“I don’t know what to wish you,” said Raskolnikov, who had begun to descend the stairs, but looked back again. “I should like to wish you success, but your office is such a comical one.”

“I don’t know what to wish you,” said Raskolnikov. He had started down the stairs but looked back. “I’d like to wish you success, but your job is such a funny one.”

“Why comical?” Porfiry Petrovitch had turned to go, but he seemed to prick up his ears at this.

“Why funny?” Porfiry Petrovitch had turned to leave, but he seemed to pay attention when he heard this.

“Why, how you must have been torturing and harassing that poor Nikolay psychologically, after your fashion, till he confessed! You must have been at him day and night, proving to him that he was the murderer, and now that he has confessed, you’ll begin vivisecting him again. ‘You are lying,’ you’ll say. ‘You are not the murderer! You can’t be! It’s not your own tale you are telling!’ You must admit it’s a comical business!”

“Why, you must have tormented and pressured poor Nikolay in your own way until he confessed! You must have worked on him day and night, convincing him he was the murderer. And now that he has confessed, you’ll start dissecting him again. ‘You’re lying,’ you’ll say. ‘You’re not the murderer! You can’t be! You’re not telling your own story!’ You must admit, it’s a comical business!”

“He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just now that it was not his own tale he was telling?”

“He-he-he! So you noticed that I just told Nikolay he wasn't telling his own story?”

“How could I help noticing it!”

“How could I not notice it!”

“He-he! You are quick-witted. You notice everything! You’ve really a playful mind! And you always fasten on the comic side... he-he! They say that was the marked characteristic of Gogol, among the writers.”

“He-he! You’re quick-witted. You notice everything! You really have a playful mind! And you always focus on the funny side... he-he! They say that was Gogol’s defining trait as a writer.”

“Yes, of Gogol.”

“Yes, of Gogol.... I shall look forward to meeting you.”

“Yes, about Gogol.... I look forward to meeting you.”

“So shall I.”

“So will I.”

Raskolnikov walked straight home. He was so muddled and bewildered that on getting home he sat for a quarter of an hour on the sofa, trying to collect his thoughts. He did not attempt to think about Nikolay; he was stupefied; he felt that his confession was something inexplicable, amazing—something beyond his understanding. But Nikolay’s confession was an actual fact. The consequences of this fact were clear to him at once, its falsehood could not fail to be discovered, and then they would be after him again. Till then, at least, he was free and must do something for himself, for the danger was imminent.

Raskolnikov walked straight home. He was so confused that he sat on the sofa for fifteen minutes, trying to gather his thoughts. He did not try to think about Nikolay. He was stunned. Nikolay’s confession seemed inexplicable and astonishing, beyond his understanding. But Nikolay really had confessed. Raskolnikov immediately saw what would follow. The confession was bound to be exposed as false, and then they would be after him again. Until then, at least, he was free. He had to do something for himself, because danger was close.

But how imminent? His position gradually became clear to him. Remembering, sketchily, the main outlines of his recent scene with Porfiry, he could not help shuddering again with horror. Of course, he did not yet know all Porfiry’s aims, he could not see into all his calculations. But he had already partly shown his hand, and no one knew better than Raskolnikov how terrible Porfiry’s “lead” had been for him. A little more and he might have given himself away completely, circumstantially. Knowing his nervous temperament and from the first glance seeing through him, Porfiry, though playing a bold game, was bound to win. There’s no denying that Raskolnikov had compromised himself seriously, but no facts had come to light as yet; there was nothing positive. But was he taking a true view of the position? Wasn’t he mistaken? What had Porfiry been trying to get at? Had he really some surprise prepared for him? And what was it? Had he really been expecting something or not? How would they have parted if it had not been for the unexpected appearance of Nikolay?

But how soon would it happen? His situation gradually became clear to him. As he recalled the main details of his recent encounter with Porfiry, he shuddered again with horror. Of course, he still did not know all of Porfiry’s aims or understand all his calculations. But he had already revealed some of what he knew. No one knew better than Raskolnikov how terribly Porfiry’s “lead” had affected him. A little more and he might have given himself away completely, down to the details. Porfiry knew his nervous temperament and had seen through him at first glance. So, though Porfiry was playing a bold game, he was bound to win. There was no denying that Raskolnikov had seriously incriminated himself. But no facts had come to light yet. There was no solid evidence. But was he seeing the situation clearly? Was he mistaken? What had Porfiry been trying to find out? Did he really have a surprise prepared for Raskolnikov? And what was it? Had he really been expecting something or not? How would they have parted if Nikolay had not appeared unexpectedly?

Porfiry had shown almost all his cards—of course, he had risked something in showing them—and if he had really had anything up his sleeve (Raskolnikov reflected), he would have shown that, too. What was that “surprise”? Was it a joke? Had it meant anything? Could it have concealed anything like a fact, a piece of positive evidence? His yesterday’s visitor? What had become of him? Where was he to-day? If Porfiry really had any evidence, it must be connected with him....

Porfiry had shown almost all his cards. Of course, he had taken a risk by showing them. Raskolnikov thought that if Porfiry had really had anything else up his sleeve, he would have shown it too. What was that “surprise”? Was it a joke? Did it mean anything? Could it have hidden a fact, a piece of solid evidence? What about yesterday’s visitor? What had become of him? Where was he today? If Porfiry really had any evidence, it must be connected with him....

He sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his face hidden in his hands. He was still shivering nervously. At last he got up, took his cap, thought a minute, and went to the door.

He sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He was still shivering nervously. Finally, he got up and took his cap. He thought for a minute, then went to the door.

He had a sort of presentiment that for to-day, at least, he might consider himself out of danger. He had a sudden sense almost of joy; he wanted to make haste to Katerina Ivanovna’s. He would be too late for the funeral, of course, but he would be in time for the memorial dinner, and there at once he would see Sonia.

He had a feeling that, for today at least, he was out of danger. He suddenly felt almost joyful and wanted to hurry to Katerina Ivanovna’s. Of course, he would be too late for the funeral, but he would arrive in time for the memorial dinner. There he would see Sonia at once.

He stood still, thought a moment, and a suffering smile came for a moment on to his lips.

He stood still and thought for a moment. A pained smile briefly crossed his lips.

“To-day! To-day,” he repeated to himself. “Yes, to-day! So it must be....”

“Today! Today,” he repeated to himself. “Yes, today! So it has to be....”

But as he was about to open the door, it began opening of itself. He started and moved back. The door opened gently and slowly, and there suddenly appeared a figure—yesterday’s visitor from underground.

But just as he was about to open the door, it began to open on its own. He flinched and stepped back. The door opened gently and slowly. Suddenly, a figure appeared. It was yesterday’s visitor from underground.

The man stood in the doorway, looked at Raskolnikov without speaking, and took a step forward into the room. He was exactly the same as yesterday; the same figure, the same dress, but there was a great change in his face; he looked dejected and sighed deeply. If he had only put his hand up to his cheek and leaned his head on one side he would have looked exactly like a peasant woman.

The man stood in the doorway, looked at Raskolnikov without speaking, and stepped into the room. He looked exactly as he had yesterday, with the same figure and clothes, but his face had changed greatly. He looked dejected and sighed deeply. If he had put his hand to his cheek and tilted his head, he would have looked exactly like a peasant woman.

“What do you want?” asked Raskolnikov, numb with terror. The man was still silent, but suddenly he bowed down almost to the ground, touching it with his finger.

“What do you want?” Raskolnikov asked, numb with terror. The man remained silent, but suddenly bowed almost to the ground, touching it with his finger.

“What is it?” cried Raskolnikov.

“What is it?” Raskolnikov cried.

“I have sinned,” the man articulated softly.

“I have sinned,” the man said softly.

“How?”

“By evil thoughts.”

They looked at one another.

They looked at each other.

“I was vexed. When you came, perhaps in drink, and bade the porters go to the police station and asked about the blood, I was vexed that they let you go and took you for drunken. I was so vexed that I lost my sleep. And remembering the address we came here yesterday and asked for you....”

“I was upset. When you came, perhaps drunk, you told the porters to go to the police station and asked about the blood. I was upset that they let you go and thought you were drunk. I was so upset that I couldn't sleep. And since we remembered the address, we came here yesterday and asked for you....”

“Who came?” Raskolnikov interrupted, instantly beginning to recollect.

“Who came?” Raskolnikov interrupted, beginning to remember at once.

“I did, I’ve wronged you.”

“Yes, I did. I treated you badly.”

“Then you come from that house?”

“Then did you come from that house?”

“I was standing at the gate with them... don’t you remember? We have carried on our trade in that house for years past. We cure and prepare hides, we take work home... most of all I was vexed....”

“I was standing at the gate with them... don’t you remember? We’ve worked in that house for years. We cure and prepare hides, and we take work home... what upset me most was....”

And the whole scene of the day before yesterday in the gateway came clearly before Raskolnikov’s mind; he recollected that there had been several people there besides the porters, women among them. He remembered one voice had suggested taking him straight to the police-station. He could not recall the face of the speaker, and even now he did not recognise it, but he remembered that he had turned round and made him some answer....

The whole scene in the gateway from the day before yesterday came clearly back to Raskolnikov. He remembered that several people besides the porters had been there, including women. He recalled a voice suggesting that they take him straight to the police station. He could not remember the speaker’s face, and even now he did not recognize it. But he remembered turning around and answering him....

So this was the solution of yesterday’s horror. The most awful thought was that he had been actually almost lost, had almost done for himself on account of such a trivial circumstance. So this man could tell nothing except his asking about the flat and the blood stains. So Porfiry, too, had nothing but that delirium, no facts but this psychology which cuts both ways, nothing positive. So if no more facts come to light (and they must not, they must not!) then... then what can they do to him? How can they convict him, even if they arrest him? And Porfiry then had only just heard about the flat and had not known about it before.

So this explained yesterday’s horror. The worst thought was that he had almost ruined himself over such a trivial thing. So the man could tell them nothing except that he had asked about the flat and the bloodstains. And Porfiry had nothing but that delirium and this psychology that cuts both ways. He had no solid facts. So if no more facts came to light (and they must not, they must not!) then... then what could they do to him? How could they convict him, even if they arrested him? And Porfiry had only just heard about the flat. He had not known about it before.

“Was it you who told Porfiry... that I’d been there?” he cried, struck by a sudden idea.

“Did you tell Porfiry... that I’d been there?” he cried, suddenly struck by an idea.

“What Porfiry?”

“Which Porfiry?”

“The head of the detective department?”

“Yes. The porters did not go there, but I went.”

“Yes. The porters didn’t go there, but I did.”

“To-day?”

“Today?”

“I got there two minutes before you. And I heard, I heard it all, how he worried you.”

“I got there two minutes before you. And I heard, I heard it all, how he upset you.”

“Where? What? When?”

“Why, in the next room. I was sitting there all the time.”

“Why, in the next room. I was sitting there the whole time.”

“What? Why, then you were the surprise? But how could it happen? Upon my word!”

“What? So you were the surprise? But how could that happen? Goodness!”

“I saw that the porters did not want to do what I said,” began the man; “for it’s too late, said they, and maybe he’ll be angry that we did not come at the time. I was vexed and I lost my sleep, and I began making inquiries. And finding out yesterday where to go, I went to-day. The first time I went he wasn’t there, when I came an hour later he couldn’t see me. I went the third time, and they showed me in. I informed him of everything, just as it happened, and he began skipping about the room and punching himself on the chest. ‘What do you scoundrels mean by it? If I’d known about it I should have arrested him!’ Then he ran out, called somebody and began talking to him in the corner, then he turned to me, scolding and questioning me. He scolded me a great deal; and I told him everything, and I told him that you didn’t dare to say a word in answer to me yesterday and that you didn’t recognise me. And he fell to running about again and kept hitting himself on the chest, and getting angry and running about, and when you were announced he told me to go into the next room. ‘Sit there a bit,’ he said. ‘Don’t move, whatever you may hear.’ And he set a chair there for me and locked me in. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘I may call you.’ And when Nikolay’d been brought he let me out as soon as you were gone. ‘I shall send for you again and question you,’ he said.”

“I could see that the porters didn’t want to do what I asked,” the man began. “They said it was too late, and maybe he’d be angry because we hadn’t come at the right time. I was upset and couldn’t sleep, so I started asking questions. Yesterday I found out where to go, and today I went there. The first time, he wasn’t in. When I came back an hour later, he couldn’t see me. I went a third time, and they showed me in. I told him everything, just as it happened. He started jumping around the room and beating his chest. ‘What do you scoundrels mean by it? If I’d known about it, I would have arrested him!’ Then he ran out, called someone over, and began talking to him in the corner. Then he turned to me, scolding me and asking questions. He scolded me a lot, and I told him everything. I told him you hadn’t dared say a word in reply to me yesterday and that you hadn’t recognized me. He started running around again, beating his chest and getting angry. When you were announced, he told me to go into the next room. ‘Sit there for a while,’ he said. ‘Don’t move, whatever you hear.’ He put a chair there for me and locked me in. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘I may call you.’ After Nikolay was brought in, he let me out as soon as you were gone. ‘I’ll send for you again and question you,’ he said.”

“And did he question Nikolay while you were there?”

“Did he question Nikolay while you were there?”

“He got rid of me as he did of you, before he spoke to Nikolay.”

“He got rid of me just as he got rid of you, before he spoke to Nikolay.”

The man stood still, and again suddenly bowed down, touching the ground with his finger.

The man stood still, then suddenly bowed down again, touching the ground with his finger.

“Forgive me for my evil thoughts, and my slander.”

“Forgive me for my evil thoughts and the lies I told about others.”

“May God forgive you,” answered Raskolnikov.

“May God forgive you,” Raskolnikov replied.

And as he said this, the man bowed down again, but not to the ground, turned slowly and went out of the room.

As he said this, the man bowed again, but not all the way to the ground. Then he turned slowly and left the room.

“It all cuts both ways, now it all cuts both ways,” repeated Raskolnikov, and he went out more confident than ever.

“It all cuts both ways, now it all cuts both ways,” Raskolnikov repeated. He went out more confident than ever.

“Now we’ll make a fight for it,” he said, with a malicious smile, as he went down the stairs. His malice was aimed at himself; with shame and contempt he recollected his “cowardice.”

“Now we’ll fight for it,” he said with a bitter smile as he went down the stairs. His bitterness was directed at himself. He remembered his “cowardice” with shame and contempt.