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He stopped suddenly, on coming out on the bank of the Little

Neva, near the bridge to Vassilyevsky Ostrov. "Why, he lives

here, in that house," he thought, "why, I have not come to

Razumihin of my own accord! Here it's the same thing over

again.... Very interesting to know, though; have I come on

purpose or have I simply walked here by chance? Never mind, I

said the day before yesterday that I would go and see him the day

after; well, and so I will! Besides I really cannot go further

now."

He went up to Razumihin's room on the fifth floor.

The latter was at home in his garret, busily writing at the

moment, and he opened the door himself. It was four months since

they had seen each other. Razumihin was sitting in a ragged

dressing-gown, with slippers on his bare feet, unkempt, unshaven

and unwashed. His face showed surprise.