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Автор: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"Why this, Rodion Romanovitch, that I know more than that about
you; I know about everything. I know how you went to take a flat
at night when it was dark and how you rang the bell and asked
about the blood, so that the workmen and the porter did not know
what to make of it. Yes, I understand your state of mind at that
time... but you'll drive yourself mad like that, upon my word!
You'll lose your head! You're full of generous indignation at the
wrongs you've received, first from destiny, and then from the
police officers, and so you rush from one thing to another to
force them to speak out and make an end of it all, because you
are sick of all this suspicion and foolishness. That's so, isn't
it? I have guessed how you feel, haven't I? Only in that way
you'll lose your head and Razumihin's, too; he's too good a man
for such a position, you must know that. You are ill and he is
good and your illness is infectious for him... I'll tell you
about it when you are more yourself....

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