He　could　never　have　imagined　such　brutality；　such　frenzy。　In
  terror　he　sat　up　in　bed；　almost　swooning　with　agony。　But　the　fighting；
  wailing　and　cursing　grew　louder　and　louder。　And　then　to　his　intense
  amazement　he　caught　the　voice　of　his　landlady。　She　was　howling；
  shrieking　and　wailing；　rapidly；　hurriedly；　incoherently；　so　that　he
  could　not　make　out　what　she　was　talking　about；　she　was　beseeching；
  no　doubt；　not　to　be　beaten；　for　she　was　being　mercilessly　beaten　on
  the　stairs。　The　voice　of　her　assailant　was　so　horrible　from　spite
  and　rage　that　it　was　almost　a　croak；　but　he；　too；　was　saying
  something；　and　just　as　quickly　and　indistinctly；　hurrying　and
  spluttering。　All　at　once　Raskolnikov　trembled；　he　recognized　the
  voice…　it　was　the　voice　of　Ilya　Petrovitch。　Ilya　Petrovitch　here　and
  beating　the　landlady！　He　is　kicking　her；　banging　her　head　against
  the　steps…　that's　clear；　that　can　be　told　from　the　sounds；　from　the
  cries　and　the　thuds。　How　is　it；　is　the　world　topsy…turvy？　He　could
  hear　people　running　in　crowds　from　all　the　storeys　and　all　the
  staircases；　he　heard　voices；　exclamations；　knocking；　doors　banging。
  〃But　why；　why；　and　how　could　it　be？〃　he　repeated；　thinking　seriously
  that　he　had　gone　mad。　But　no；　he　heard　too　distinctly！　And　they
  would　come　to　him　then　next；　〃for　no　doubt。。。　it's　all　about　that。。。
  about　yesterday。。。。　Good　God！〃　He　would　have　fastened　his　door　with
  the　latch；　but　he　could　not　lift　his　hand。。。　besides；　it　would　be
  useless。　Terror　gripped　his　heart　like　ice；　tortured　him　and　numbed
  him。。。。　But　at　last　all　this　uproar；　after　continuing　about　ten
  minutes；　began　gradually　to　subside。　The　landlady　was　moaning　and
  groaning；　Ilya　Petrovitch　was　still　uttering　threats　and　curses。。。。
  But　at　last　he；　too；　seemed　to　be　silent；　and　now　he　could　not　be
  heard。　〃Can　he　have　gone　away？　Good　Lord！〃　Yes；　and　now　the　landlady
  is　going　too；　still　weeping　and　moaning。。。　　and　then　her　door
  slammed。。。。　Now　the　crowd　was　going　from　the　stairs　to　their　rooms；
  exclaiming；　disputing；　calling　to　one　another；　raising　their　voices　to
  a　shout；　dropping　them　to　a　whisper。　There　must　have　been　numbers　of
  them…　almost　all　the　inmates　of　the　block。　〃But；　good　God；　how　could
  it　be！　And　why；　why　had　he　come　here！〃
  Raskolnikov　sank　worn　out　on　the　sofa；　but　could　not　close　his　eyes。
  He　lay　for　half　an　hour　in　such　anguish；　such　an　intolerable　sensation
  of　infinite　terror　as　he　had　never　experienced　before。　Suddenly　a
  bright　light　flashed　into　his　room。　Nastasya　came　in　with　a　candle　and
  a　plate　of　soup。　Looking　at　him　carefully　and　ascertaining　that　he　was
  not　asleep；　she　set　the　candle　on　the　table　and　began　to　lay　out
  what　she　had　brought…　bread；　salt；　a　plate；　a　spoon。
  〃You've　eaten　nothing　since　yesterday；　I　warrant。　You've　been
  trudging　about　all　day；　and　you're　shaking　with　fever。〃
  〃Nastasya。。。　what　were　they　beating　the　landlady　for？〃
  She　looked　intently　at　him。
  〃Who　beat　the　landlady？〃
  〃Just　now。。。　half　an　hour　ago；　Ilya　Petrovitch；　the
  assistant…superintendent；　on　the　stairs。。。。　Why　was　he　ill…treating
  her　like　that；　and。。。　why　was　he　here？〃
  Nastasya　scrutinised　him；　silent　and　frowning；　and　her　scrutiny
  lasted　a　long　time。　He　felt　uneasy；　even　frightened　at　her　searching
  eyes。
  〃Nastasya；　why　don't　you　speak？〃　he　said　timidly　at　last　in　a　weak
  voice。
  〃It's　the　blood；〃　she　answered　at　last　softly；　as　though　speaking　to
  herself。
  〃Blood？　What　blood？〃　he　muttered；　growing　white　and　turning
  towards　the　wall。
  Nastasya　still　looked　at　him　without　speaking。
  〃Nobody　has　been　beating　the　landlady；〃　she　declared　at　last　in　a
  firm；　resolute　voice。
  He　gazed　at　her；　hardly　able　to　breathe。
  〃I　heard　it　myself。。。。　I　was　not　asleep。。。　I　was　sitting　up；〃　he
  said　still　more　timidly。　〃I　listened　a　long　while。　The
  assistant…superintendent　came。。。。　Every　one　ran　out　on　to　the　stairs
  from　all　the　flats。〃
  〃No　one　has　been　here。　That's　the　blood　crying　in　your　ears。　When
  there's　no　outlet　for　it　and　it　gets　clotted；　you　begin　fancying
  things。。。。　Will　you　eat　something？〃
  He　made　no　answer。　Nastasya　still　stood　over　him；　watching　him。
  〃Give　me　something　to　drink。。。　Nastasya。〃
  She　went　downstairs　and　returned　with　a　white　earthenware　jug　of
  water。　He　remembered　only　swallowing　one　sip　of　the　cold　water　and
  spilling　some　on　his　neck。　Then　followed　forgetfulness。
  Chapter　Three
  HE　WAS　not　completely　unconscious；　however；　all　the　time　he　was　ill；
  he　was　in　a　feverish　state；　sometimes　delirious；　sometimes　half
  conscious。　He　remembered　a　great　deal　afterwards。　Sometimes　it
  seemed　as　though　there　were　a　number　of　people　round　him；　they
  wanted　to　take　him　away　somewhere；　there　was　a　great　deal　of
  squabbling　and　discussing　about　him。　Then　he　would　be　alone　in　the
  room；　they　had　all　gone　away　afraid　of　him；　and　only　now　and　then
  opened　the　door　a　crack　to　look　at　him；　they　threatened　him；　plotted
  something　together；　laughed；　and　mocked　at　him。　He　remembered　Nastasya
  often　at　his　bedside；　he　distinguished　another　person；　too；　whom　he
  seemed　to　know　very　well；　though　he　could　not　remember　who　he　was；　and
  this　fretted　him；　even　made　him　cry。　Sometimes　he　fancied　he　had
  been　lying　there　a　month；　at　other　times　it　all　seemed　part　of　the
  same　day。　But　of　that…　of　that　he　had　no　recollection；　and　yet　every
  minute　he　felt　that　he　had　forgotten　something　he　ought　to　remember。
  He　worried　and　tormented　himself　trying　to　remember；　moaned；　flew　into
  a　rage；　or　sank　into　awful；　intolerable　terror。　Then　he　struggled　to
  get　up；　would　have　run　away；　but　some　one　always　prevented　him　by
  force；　and　he　sank　back　into　impotence　and　forgetfulness。　At　last　he
  returned　to　complete　consciousness。
  It　happened　at　ten　o'clock　in　the　morning。　On　fine　days　the　sun
  shone　into　the　room　at　that　hour；　throwing　a　streak　of　light　on　the
  right　wall　and　the　corner　near　the　door。　Nastasya　was　standing
  beside　him　with　another　person；　a　complete　stranger；　who　was　looking
  at　him　very　inquisitively。　He　was　a　young　man　with　a　beard；　wearing
  a　full；　short…waisted　coat；　and　looked　like　a　messenger。　The
  landlady　was　peeping　in　at　the　half…opened　door。　Raskolnikov　sat　up。
  〃Who　is　this；　Nastasya？〃　he　asked；　pointing　to　the　young　man。
  〃I　say；　he's　himself　again！〃　she　said。
  〃He　is　himself；〃　echoed　the　man。
  Concluding　that　he　had　returned　to　his　senses；　the　landlady　closed
  the　door　and　disappeared。　She　was　always　shy　and　dreaded　conversations
  or　discussions。　She　was　a　woman　of　forty；　not　at　all　bad…looking；
  fat　and　buxom；　with　black　eyes　and　eyebrows；　good…natured　from　fatness
  and　laziness；　and　absurdly　bashful。
  〃Who。。。　are　you？〃　he　went　on；　addressing　the　man。　But　at　that　moment
  the　door　was　flung　open；　and；　stooping　a　little；　as　he　was　so　tall；
  Razumihin　came　in。
  〃What　a　cabin　it　is！〃　he　cried。　〃I　am　always　knocking　my　head。　You
  call　this　a　lodging！　So　you　are　conscious；　brother？　I've　just　heard
  the　news　from　Pashenka。〃
  〃He　has　just　come　to；〃　said　Nastasya。
  〃Just　come　to；〃　echoed　the　man