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"Good heavens! What do you mean? What shall I question you

about?" cackled Porfiry Petrovitch with a change of tone,

instantly leaving off laughing. "Please don't disturb yourself,"

he began fidgeting from place to place and fussily making

Raskolnikov sit down. "There's no hurry, there's no hurry, it's

all nonsense. Oh, no, I'm very glad you've come to see me at

last... I look upon you simply as a visitor. And as for my

confounded laughter, please excuse it, Rodion Romanovitch. Rodion

Romanovitch? That is your name?... It's my nerves, you tickled me

so with your witty observation; I assure you, sometimes I shake

with laughter like an india-rubber ball for half an hour at a

time.... I'm often afraid of an attack of paralysis. Do sit down.

Please do, or I shall think you are angry..."

Raskolnikov did not speak; he listened, watching him, still

frowning angrily. He did sit down, but still held his cap.