who　lay　undressed；　dishevelled；　unwashed；　on　his　miserable　dirty　sofa；
  looking　fixedly　at　him。　Then　with　the　same　deliberation　he　scrutinised
  the　uncouth；　unkempt　figure　and　unshaven　face　of　Razumihin；　who　looked
  him　boldly　and　inquiringly　in　the　face　without　rising　from　his　seat。　A
  constrained　silence　lasted　for　a　couple　of　minutes；　and　then；　as　might
  be　expected；　some　scene…shifting　took　place。　Reflecting；　probably　from
  certain　fairly　unmistakable　signs；　that　he　would　get　nothing　in　this
  〃cabin〃　by　attempting　to　overawe　them；　the　gentleman　softened
  somewhat；　and　civilly；　though　with　some　severity；　emphasising　every
  syllable　of　his　question；　addressed　Zossimov：
  〃Rodion　Romanovitch　Raskolnikov；　a　student；　or　formerly　a　student？〃
  Zossimov　made　a　slight　movement；　and　would　have　answered；　had　not
  Razumihin　anticipated　him。
  〃Here　he　is　lying　on　the　sofa！　What　do　you　want？〃
  This　familiar　〃what　do　you　want〃　seemed　to　cut　the　ground　from　the
  feet　of　the　pompous　gentleman。　He　was　turning　to　Razumihin；　but
  checked　himself　in　time　and　turned　to　Zossimov　again。
  〃This　is　Raskolnikov；〃　mumbled　Zossimov；　nodding　towards　him。　Then
  he　gave　a　prolonged　yawn；　opening　his　mouth　as　wide　as　possible。
  Then　he　lazily　put　his　hand　into　his　waistcoat…pocket；　pulled　out　a
  huge　gold　watch　in　a　round　hunter's　case；　opened　it；　looked　at　it
  and　as　slowly　and　lazily　proceeded　to　put　it　back。
  Raskolnikov　himself　lay　without　speaking；　on　his　back；　gazing
  persistently；　though　'without　understanding；　at　the　stranger。　Now　that
  his　face　was　turned　away　from　the　strange　flower　on　the　paper；　it
  was　extremely　pale　and　wore　a　look　of　anguish；　as　though　he　had　just
  undergone　an　agonising　operation　or　just　been　taken　from　the　rack。　But
  the　new…comer　gradually　began　to　arouse　his　attention；　then　his
  wonder；　then　suspicion　and　even　alarm。　When　Zossimov　said　〃This　is
  Raskolnikov〃　he　jumped　up　quickly；　sat　on　the　sofa　and　with　an
  almost　defiant；　but　weak　and　breaking；　voice　articulated：
  〃Yes；　I　am　Raskolnikov！　What　do　you　want？〃
  The　visitor　scrutinised　him　and　pronounced　impressively：
  〃Pyotr　Petrovitch　Luzhin。　I　believe　I　have　reason　to　hope　that　my
  name　is　not　wholly　unknown　to　you？〃
  But　Raskolnikov；　who　had　expected　something　quite　different；　gazed
  blankly　and　dreamily　at　him；　making　no　reply；　as　though　he　heard　the
  name　of　Pyotr　Petrovitch　for　the　first　time。
  〃Is　it　possible　that　you　can　up　to　the　present　have　received　no
  information？〃　asked　Pyotr　Petrovitch；　somewhat　disconcerted。
  In　reply　Raskolnikov　sank　languidly　back　on　the　pillow；　put　his
  hands　behind　his　head　and　gazed　at　the　ceiling。　A　look　of　dismay
  came　into　Luzhin's　face。　Zossimov　and　Razumihin　stared　at　him　more
  inquisitively　than　ever；　and　at　last　he　showed　unmistakable　signs　of
  embarrassment。
  〃I　had　presumed　and　calculated；〃　he　faltered；　〃that　a　letter
  posted　more　than　ten　days；　if　not　a　fortnight　ago。。。〃
  〃I　say；　why　are　you　standing　in　the　doorway？〃　Razumihin
  interrupted　suddenly。　〃If　you've　something　to　say；　sit　down。
  Nastasya　and　you　are　so　crowded。　Nastasya；　make　room。　Here's　a
  chair；　thread　your　way　in！〃
  He　moved　his　chair　back　from　the　table；　made　a　little　space
  between　the　table　and　his　knees；　and　waited　in　a　rather　cramped
  position　for　the　visitor　to　〃thread　his　way　in。〃　The　minute　was　so
  chosen　that　it　was　impossible　to　refuse；　and　the　visitor　squeezed
  his　way　through；　hurrying　and　stumbling。　Reaching　the　chair；　he　sat
  down；　looking　suspiciously　at　Razumihin。
  〃No　need　to　be　nervous；〃　the　latter　blurted　out。　〃Rodya　has　been　ill
  for　the　last　five　days　and　delirious　for　three；　but　now　he　is
  recovering　and　has　got　an　appetite。　This　is　his　doctor；　who　has　just
  had　a　look　at　him。　I　am　a　comrade　of　Rodya's；　like　him；　formerly　a
  student；　and　now　I　am　nursing　him；　so　don't　you　take　any　notice　of　us；
  but　go　on　with　your　business。〃
  〃Thank　you。　But　shall　I　not　disturb　the　invalid　by　my　presence　and
  conversation？〃　Pyotr　Petrovitch　asked　of　Zossimov。
  〃N…no；〃　mumbled　Zossimov；　〃you　may　amuse　him。〃　He　yawned　again。
  〃He　has　been　conscious　a　long　time；　since　the　morning；〃　went　on
  Razumihin；　whose　familiarity　seemed　so　much　like　unaffected
  good…nature　that　Pyotr　Petrovitch　began　to　be　more　cheerful；　partly；
  perhaps；　because　this　shabby　and　impudent　person　had　introduced
  himself　as　a　student。
  〃Your　mamma；〃　began　Luzhin。
  〃Hm！〃　Razumihin　cleared　his　throat　loudly。　Luzhin　looked　at　him
  inquiringly。
  〃That's　all　right；　go　on。〃
  Luzhin　shrugged　his　shoulders。
  〃Your　mamma　had　commenced　a　letter　to　you　while　I　was　sojourning
  in　her　neighbourhood。　On　my　arrival　here　I　purposely　allowed　a　few
  days　to　elapse　before　coming　to　see　you；　in　order　that　I　might　be
  fully　assured　that　you　were　in　full　possession　of　the　tidings；　but
  now；　to　my　astonishment。。。〃
  〃I　know；　I　know！〃　Raskolnikov　cried　suddenly　with　impatient
  vexation。　〃So　you　are　the　fiance？　I　know；　and　that's　enough！〃
  There　was　no　doubt　about　Pyotr　Petrovitch's　being　offended　this
  time；　but　he　said　nothing。　He　made　a　violent　effort　to　understand　what
  it　all　meant。　There　was　a　moment's　silence。
  Meanwhile　Raskolnikov；　who　had　turned　a　little　towards　him　when　he
  answered；　began　suddenly　staring　at　him　again　with　marked　curiosity；
  as　though　he　had　not　had　a　good　look　at　him　yet；　or　as　though
  something　new　had　struck　him；　he　rose　from　his　pillow　on　purpose　to
  stare　at　him。　There　certainly　was　something　peculiar　in　Pyotr
  Petrovitch's　whole　appearance；　something　which　seemed　to　justify　the
  title　of　〃fiance〃　so　unceremoniously　applied　to　him。　In　the　first
  place；　it　was　evident；　far　too　much　so　indeed；　that　Pyotr　Petrovitch
  had　made　eager　use　of　his　few　days　in　the　capital　to　get　himself　up
  and　rig　himself　out　in　expectation　of　his　betrothed…　a　perfectly
  innocent　and　permissible　proceeding；　indeed。　Even　his　own；　perhaps　too
  complacent；　consciousness　of　the　agreeable　improvement　in　his
  appearance　might　have　been　forgiven　in　such　circumstances；　seeing　that
  Pyotr　Petrovitch　had　taken　up　the　role　of　fiance。　All　his　clothes　were
  fresh　from　the　tailor's　and　were　all　right；　except　for　being　too　new
  and　too　distinctly　appropriate。　Even　the　stylish　new　round　hat　had　the
  same　significance。　Pyotr　Petrovitch　treated　it　too　respectfully　and
  held　it　too　carefully　in　his　hands。　The　exquisite　pair　of　lavender
  gloves；　real　Louvain；　told　the　same　tale；　if　only　from　the　fact　of　his
  not　wearing　them；　but　carrying　them　in　his　hand　for　show。　Light　and
  youthful　colours　predominated　in　Pyotr　Petrovitch's　attire。　He　wore
  a　charming　summer　jacket　of　a　fawn　shade；　light　thin　trousers；　a
  waistcoat　of　the　same；　new　and　fine　linen；　a　cravat　of　the　lightest
  cambric　with　pink　stripes　on　it；　and　the　best　of　it　was；　this　all
  suited　Pyotr　Petrovitch。　His　very　fresh　and　even　handsome　face
  looked　younger　than　his　forty…five　years　at　all　times。　His　dark；
  mutton…chop　whiskers　made　an　agreeable　setting　on　both　sides；
  growing　thickly　about　his　shining；　clean…shaven　chin。　Even　his　hair；
  touched　here　and　there　with　grey；　though　it　had　been　combed　and　curled
  at　a　hairdresser's；　did　not　give　him　a　stupid　appearance；　as　curled
  hair　usually　does；　by　inevitably　suggesting　a　German　on　his
  wedding…day。　If　there　really　was　something　unpleasing　and　repulsive　in
  his　rather　good…looking　and　imposing　countenance；　it　was　due　to
  quite　other　causes。　After　scanning