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作者: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"But how could you forget it?"
"Nothing easier. It is in just such stupid things clever people
are most easily caught. The more cunning a man is, the less he
suspects that he will be caught in a simple thing. The more
cunning a man is, the simpler the trap he must be caught in.
Porfiry is not such a fool as you think...."
"He is a knave then, if that is so!"
Raskolnikov could not help laughing. But at the very moment, he
was struck by the strangeness of his own frankness, and the
eagerness with which he had made this explanation, though he had
kept up all the preceding conversation with gloomy repulsion,
obviously with a motive, from necessity.
"I am getting a relish for certain aspects!" he thought to
himself. But almost at the same instant he became suddenly
uneasy, as though an unexpected and alarming idea had occurred to
him. His uneasiness kept on increasing. They had just reached the
entrance to Bakaleyev's.
"Go in alone!" said Raskolnikov suddenly. "I will be back
directly."

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