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Pagina 598 de 1294

Autor: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"I was awfully sick of them yesterday." Raskolnikov addressed
Porfiry suddenly with a smile of insolent defiance, "I ran away
from them to take lodgings where they wouldn't find me, and took
a lot of money with me. Mr. Zametov there saw it. I say, Mr.
Zametov, was I sensible or delirious yesterday; settle our
dispute."
He could have strangled Zametov at that moment, so hateful were
his expression and his silence to him.
"In my opinion you talked sensibly and even artfully, but you
were extremely irritable," Zametov pronounced dryly.
"And Nikodim Fomitch was telling me to-day," put in Porfiry
Petrovitch, "that he met you very late last night in the lodging
of a man who had been run over."
"And there," said Razumihin, "weren't you mad then? You gave your
last penny to the widow for the funeral. If you wanted to help,
give fifteen or twenty even, but keep three roubles for yourself
at least, but he flung away all the twenty-five at once!"

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