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presented by Tchebarov, the new paint, thirty degrees Reaumur and

a stifling atmosphere, a crowd of people, the talk about the

murder of a person where he had been just before, and all that on

an empty stomach--he might well have a fainting fit! And that,

that is what they found it all on! Damn them! I understand how

annoying it is, but in your place, Rodya, I would laugh at them,

or better still, spit in their ugly faces, and spit a dozen times

in all directions. I'd hit out in all directions, neatly too, and

so I'd put an end to it. Damn them! Don't be downhearted. It's a

shame!"

"He really has put it well, though," Raskolnikov thought.

"Damn them? But the cross-examination again, to-morrow?" he said

with bitterness. "Must I really enter into explanations with

them? I feel vexed as it is, that I condescended to speak to

Zametov yesterday in the restaurant...."