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Everything about Sonia seemed to him stranger and more wonderful

every moment. He carried the book to the candle and began to turn

over the pages.

"Where is the story of Lazarus?" he asked suddenly.

Sonia looked obstinately at the ground and would not answer. She

was standing sideways to the table.

"Where is the raising of Lazarus? Find it for me, Sonia."

She stole a glance at him.

"You are not looking in the right place.... It's in the fourth

gospel," she whispered sternly, without looking at him.

"Find it and read it to me," he said. He sat down with his elbow

on the table, leaned his head on his hand and looked away

sullenly, prepared to listen.

"In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse! I shall

be there if I am not in a worse place," he muttered to himself.

Sonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved

hesitatingly to the table. She took the book however.

"Haven't you read it?" she asked, looking up at him across the

table.

Her voice became sterner and sterner.