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Автор: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"Where are you going? Why, we are just here."
"I can't help it.... I will come in half an hour. Tell them."
"Say what you like, I will come with you."
"You, too, want to torture me!" he screamed, with such bitter
irritation, such despair in his eyes that Razumihin's hands
dropped. He stood for some time on the steps, looking gloomily at
Raskolnikov striding rapidly away in the direction of his
lodging. At last, gritting his teeth and clenching his fist, he
swore he would squeeze Porfiry like a lemon that very day, and
went up the stairs to reassure Pulcheria Alexandrovna, who was by
now alarmed at their long absence.

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