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Автор: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"Not quite well!" Razumihin caught him up. "What next! He was
unconscious and delirious all yesterday. Would you believe,
Porfiry, as soon as our backs were turned, he dressed, though he
could hardly stand, and gave us the slip and went off on a spree
somewhere till midnight, delirious all the time! Would you
believe it! Extraordinary!"
"Really delirious? You don't say so!" Porfiry shook his head in a
womanish way.
"Nonsense! Don't you believe it! But you don't believe it
anyway," Raskolnikov let slip in his anger. But Porfiry
Petrovitch did not seem to catch those strange words.
"But how could you have gone out if you hadn't been delirious?"
Razumihin got hot suddenly. "What did you go out for? What was
the object of it? And why on the sly? Were you in your senses
when you did it? Now that all danger is over I can speak
plainly."

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