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Yazar: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"It's a good thing you are taking him home," observed Zossimov to
Razumihin--"we shall see how he is to-morrow, to-day he's not at
all amiss--a considerable change since the afternoon. Live and
learn..."
"Do you know what Zossimov whispered to me when we were coming
out?" Razumihin blurted out, as soon as they were in the street.
"I won't tell you everything, brother, because they are such
fools. Zossimov told me to talk freely to you on the way and get
you to talk freely to me, and afterwards I am to tell him about
it, for he's got a notion in his head that you are... mad or
close on it. Only fancy! In the first place, you've three times
the brains he has; in the second, if you are not mad, you needn't
care a hang that he has got such a wild idea; and thirdly, that
piece of beef whose specialty is surgery has gone mad on mental
diseases, and what's brought him to this conclusion about you was
your conversation to-day with Zametov."
"Zametov told you all about it?"

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