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Raskolnikov had for some time been wanting to go and he had meant

to help him. Marmeladov was much unsteadier on his legs than in

his speech and leaned heavily on the young man. They had two or

three hundred paces to go. The drunken man was more and more

overcome by dismay and confusion as they drew nearer the house.

"It's not Katerina Ivanovna I am afraid of now," he muttered in

agitation--"and that she will begin pulling my hair. What does my

hair matter! Bother my hair! That's what I say! Indeed it will be

better if she does begin pulling it, that's not what I am afraid

of... it's her eyes I am afraid of... yes, her eyes... the red on

her cheeks, too, frightens me... and her breathing too.... Have

you noticed how people in that disease breathe... when they are

excited? I am frightened of the children's crying, too.... For if

Sonia has not taken them food... I don't know what's happened! I

don't know! But blows I am not afraid of.... Know, sir, that such

blows are not a pain to me, but even an enjoyment. In fact I

can't get on without it.... It's better so. Let her strike me, it

relieves her heart... it's better so... There is the house. The

house of Kozel, the cabinet-maker... a German, well-to-do. Lead

the way!"