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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.

"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 is it?" cried Raskolnikov.

"I have sinned," the man articulated softly.

"How?"

"By evil thoughts."

They looked at one another.

"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...."