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Raskolnikov was already entering the room. He came in looking as

though he had the utmost difficulty not to burst out laughing

again. Behind him Razumihin strode in gawky and awkward,

shamefaced and red as a peony, with an utterly crestfallen and

ferocious expression. His face and whole figure really were

ridiculous at that moment and amply justified Raskolnikov's

laughter. Raskolnikov, not waiting for an introduction, bowed to

Porfiry Petrovitch, who stood in the middle of the room looking

inquiringly at them. He held out his hand and shook hands, still

apparently making desperate efforts to subdue his mirth and utter

a few words to introduce himself. But he had no sooner succeeded

in assuming a serious air and muttering something when he

suddenly glanced again as though accidentally at Razumihin, and

could no longer control himself: his stifled laughter broke out

the more irresistibly the more he tried to restrain it.