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This was a gentleman no longer young, of a stiff and portly

appearance, and a cautious and sour countenance. He began by

stopping short in the doorway, staring about him with offensive

and undisguised astonishment, as though asking himself what sort

of place he had come to. Mistrustfully and with an affectation of

being alarmed and almost affronted, he scanned Raskolnikov's low

and narrow "cabin." With the same amazement he stared at

Raskolnikov, who lay undressed, dishevelled, unwashed, on his

miserable dirty sofa, looking fixedly at him. Then with the same

deliberation he scrutinised the uncouth, unkempt figure and

unshaven face of Razumihin, who looked him boldly and inquiringly

in the face without rising from his seat. A constrained silence

lasted for a couple of minutes, and then, as might be expected,

some scene-shifting took place.