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There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from

the first moment, before a word is spoken. Such was the

impression made on Raskolnikov by the person sitting a little

distance from him, who looked like a retired clerk. The young man

often recalled this impression afterwards, and even ascribed it

to presentiment. He looked repeatedly at the clerk, partly no

doubt because the latter was staring persistently at him,

obviously anxious to enter into conversation. At the other

persons in the room, including the tavern-keeper, the clerk

looked as though he were used to their company, and weary of it,

showing a shade of condescending contempt for them as persons of

station and culture inferior to his own, with whom it would be

useless for him to converse. He was a man over fifty, bald and

grizzled, of medium height, and stoutly built.