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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!"