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"Good-bye--are you always at home alone, your sister is not here

with you?" He asked her as casually as possible as he went out

into the passage.

"What business is she of yours, my good sir?"

"Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. You are too quick....

Good-day, Alyona Ivanovna."

Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion. This confusion became

more and more intense. As he went down the stairs, he even

stopped short, two or three times, as though suddenly struck by

some thought. When he was in the street he cried out, "Oh, God,

how loathsome it all is! and can I, can I possibly.... No, it's

nonsense, it's rubbish!" he added resolutely. "And how could such

an atrocious thing come into my head? What filthy things my heart

is capable of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting, loathsome,

loathsome!--and for a whole month I've been...." But no words, no

exclamations, could express his agitation. The feeling of intense

repulsion, which had begun to oppress and torture his heart while

he was on his way to the old woman, had by now reached such a

pitch and had taken such a definite form that he did not know

what to do with himself to escape from his wretchedness.