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作者: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"Brother, what are you doing to mother?" she whispered, her eyes
flashing with indignation.
He looked dully at her.
"No matter, I shall come.... I'm coming," he muttered in an
undertone, as though not fully conscious of what he was saying,
and he went out of the room.
"Wicked, heartless egoist!" cried Dounia.
"He is insane, but not heartless. He is mad! Don't you see it?
You're heartless after that!" Razumihin whispered in her ear,
squeezing her hand tightly. "I shall be back directly," he
shouted to the horror-stricken mother, and he ran out of the
room.
Raskolnikov was waiting for him at the end of the passage.
"I knew you would run after me," he said. "Go back to them--be
with them... be with them to-morrow and always.... I... perhaps I
shall come... if I can. Good-bye."
And without holding out his hand he walked away.
"But where are you going? What are you doing? What's the matter
with you? How can you go on like this?" Razumihin muttered, at
his wits' end.
Raskolnikov stopped once more.

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