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Yazar: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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Just the same with bell-ringing.... It's all illness, Rodion
Romanovitch! You have begun to neglect your illness. You should
consult an experienced doctor, what's the good of that fat
fellow? You are lightheaded! You were delirious when you did all
this!"
For a moment Raskolnikov felt everything going round.
"Is it possible, is it possible," flashed through his mind, "that
he is still lying? He can't be, he can't be." He rejected that
idea, feeling to what a degree of fury it might drive him,
feeling that that fury might drive him mad.
"I was not delirious. I knew what I was doing," he cried,
straining every faculty to penetrate Porfiry's game, "I was quite
myself, do you hear?"

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