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Raskolnikov got up from the sofa. As he had mounted the stairs to

Razumihin's, he had not realised that he would be meeting his

friend face to face. Now, in a flash, he knew, that what he was

least of all disposed for at that moment was to be face to face

with anyone in the wide world. His spleen rose within him. He

almost choked with rage at himself as soon as he crossed

Razumihin's threshold.

"Good-bye," he said abruptly, and walked to the door.

"Stop, stop! You queer fish."

"I don't want to," said the other, again pulling away his hand.

"Then why the devil have you come? Are you mad, or what? Why,

this is... almost insulting! I won't let you go like that."

"Well, then, I came to you because I know no one but you who

could help... to begin... because you are kinder than

anyone--cleverer, I mean, and can judge... and now I see that I

want nothing. Do you hear? Nothing at all... no one's services...

no one's sympathy. I am by myself... alone. Come, that's enough.

Leave me alone."