CHAPTER IV

<h2><a id="link2HCH0018"/>
  CHAPTER IV
</h2>
<p>
  At that moment the door was softly opened, and a young girl walked into
  the room, looking timidly about her. Everyone turned towards her with
  surprise and curiosity. At first sight, Raskolnikov did not recognise her.
  It was Sofya Semyonovna Marmeladov. He had seen her yesterday for the
  first time, but at such a moment, in such surroundings and in such a
  dress, that his memory retained a very different image of her. Now she was
  a modestly and poorly-dressed young girl, very young, indeed, almost like
  a child, with a modest and refined manner, with a candid but somewhat
  frightened-looking face. She was wearing a very plain indoor dress, and
  had on a shabby old-fashioned hat, but she still carried a parasol.
  Unexpectedly finding the room full of people, she was not so much
  embarrassed as completely overwhelmed with shyness, like a little child.
  She was even about to retreat. “Oh... it’s you!” said Raskolnikov,
  extremely astonished, and he, too, was confused. He at once recollected
  that his mother and sister knew through Luzhin’s letter of “some young
  woman of notorious behaviour.” He had only just been protesting against
  Luzhin’s calumny and declaring that he had seen the girl last night for
  the first time, and suddenly she had walked in. He remembered, too, that
  he had not protested against the expression “of notorious behaviour.” All
  this passed vaguely and fleetingly through his brain, but looking at her
  more intently, he saw that the humiliated creature was so humiliated that
  he felt suddenly sorry for her. When she made a movement to retreat in
  terror, it sent a pang to his heart.
</p>
<p>
  “I did not expect you,” he said, hurriedly, with a look that made her
  stop. “Please sit down. You come, no doubt, from Katerina Ivanovna. Allow
  me—not there. Sit here....”
 </p>
<p>
  At Sonia’s entrance, Razumihin, who had been sitting on one of
  Raskolnikov’s three chairs, close to the door, got up to allow her to
  enter. Raskolnikov had at first shown her the place on the sofa where
  Zossimov had been sitting, but feeling that the sofa which served him as a
  bed, was too <i>familiar</i> a place, he hurriedly motioned her to
  Razumihin’s chair.
</p>
<p>
  “You sit here,” he said to Razumihin, putting him on the sofa.
</p>
<p>
  Sonia sat down, almost shaking with terror, and looked timidly at the two
  ladies. It was evidently almost inconceivable to herself that she could
  sit down beside them. At the thought of it, she was so frightened that she
  hurriedly got up again, and in utter confusion addressed Raskolnikov.
</p>
<p>
  “I... I... have come for one minute. Forgive me for disturbing you,” she
  began falteringly. “I come from Katerina Ivanovna, and she had no one to
  send. Katerina Ivanovna told me to beg you... to be at the service... in
  the morning... at Mitrofanievsky... and then... to us... to her... to do
  her the honour... she told me to beg you...” Sonia stammered and ceased
  speaking.
</p>
<p>
  “I will try, certainly, most certainly,” answered Raskolnikov. He, too,
  stood up, and he, too, faltered and could not finish his sentence. “Please
  sit down,” he said, suddenly. “I want to talk to you. You are perhaps in a
  hurry, but please, be so kind, spare me two minutes,” and he drew up a
  chair for her.
</p>
<p>
  Sonia sat down again, and again timidly she took a hurried, frightened
  look at the two ladies, and dropped her eyes. Raskolnikov’s pale face
  flushed, a shudder passed over him, his eyes glowed.
</p>
<p>
  “Mother,” he said, firmly and insistently, “this is Sofya Semyonovna
  Marmeladov, the daughter of that unfortunate Mr. Marmeladov, who was run
  over yesterday before my eyes, and of whom I was just telling you.”
 </p>
<p>
  Pulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, and slightly screwed up her eyes.
  In spite of her embarrassment before Rodya’s urgent and challenging look,
  she could not deny herself that satisfaction. Dounia gazed gravely and
  intently into the poor girl’s face, and scrutinised her with perplexity.
  Sonia, hearing herself introduced, tried to raise her eyes again, but was
  more embarrassed than ever.
</p>
<p>
  “I wanted to ask you,” said Raskolnikov, hastily, “how things were
  arranged yesterday. You were not worried by the police, for instance?”
 </p>
<p>
  “No, that was all right... it was too evident, the cause of death... they
  did not worry us... only the lodgers are angry.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Why?”
 </p>
<p>
  “At the body’s remaining so long. You see it is hot now. So that, to-day,
  they will carry it to the cemetery, into the chapel, until to-morrow. At
  first Katerina Ivanovna was unwilling, but now she sees herself that it’s
  necessary...”
 </p>
<p>
  “To-day, then?”
 </p>
<p>
  “She begs you to do us the honour to be in the church to-morrow for the
  service, and then to be present at the funeral lunch.”
 </p>
<p>
  “She is giving a funeral lunch?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Yes... just a little.... She told me to thank you very much for helping
  us yesterday. But for you, we should have had nothing for the funeral.”
 </p>
<p>
  All at once her lips and chin began trembling, but, with an effort, she
  controlled herself, looking down again.
</p>
<p>
  During the conversation, Raskolnikov watched her carefully. She had a
  thin, very thin, pale little face, rather irregular and angular, with a
  sharp little nose and chin. She could not have been called pretty, but her
  blue eyes were so clear, and when they lighted up, there was such a
  kindliness and simplicity in her expression that one could not help being
  attracted. Her face, and her whole figure indeed, had another peculiar
  characteristic. In spite of her eighteen years, she looked almost a little
  girl—almost a child. And in some of her gestures, this childishness
  seemed almost absurd.
</p>
<p>
  “But has Katerina Ivanovna been able to manage with such small means? Does
  she even mean to have a funeral lunch?” Raskolnikov asked, persistently
  keeping up the conversation.
</p>
<p>
  “The coffin will be plain, of course... and everything will be plain, so
  it won’t cost much. Katerina Ivanovna and I have reckoned it all out, so
  that there will be enough left... and Katerina Ivanovna was very anxious
  it should be so. You know one can’t... it’s a comfort to her... she is
  like that, you know....”
 </p>
<p>
  “I understand, I understand... of course... why do you look at my room
  like that? My mother has just said it is like a tomb.”
 </p>
<p>
  “You gave us everything yesterday,” Sonia said suddenly, in reply, in a
  loud rapid whisper; and again she looked down in confusion. Her lips and
  chin were trembling once more. She had been struck at once by
  Raskolnikov’s poor surroundings, and now these words broke out
  spontaneously. A silence followed. There was a light in Dounia’s eyes, and
  even Pulcheria Alexandrovna looked kindly at Sonia.
</p>
<p>
  “Rodya,” she said, getting up, “we shall have dinner together, of course.
  Come, Dounia.... And you, Rodya, had better go for a little walk, and then
  rest and lie down before you come to see us.... I am afraid we have
  exhausted you....”
 </p>
<p>
  “Yes, yes, I’ll come,” he answered, getting up fussily. “But I have
  something to see to.”
 </p>
<p>
  “But surely you will have dinner together?” cried Razumihin, looking in
  surprise at Raskolnikov. “What do you mean?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Yes, yes, I am coming... of course, of course! And you stay a minute. You
  do not want him just now, do you, mother? Or perhaps I am taking him from
  you?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Oh, no, no. And will you, Dmitri Prokofitch, do us the favour of dining
  with us?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Please do,” added Dounia.
</p>
<p>
  Razumihin bowed, positively radiant. For one moment, they were all
  strangely embarrassed.
</p>
<p>
  “Good-bye, Rodya, that is till we meet. I do not like saying good-bye.
  Good-bye, Nastasya. Ah, I have said good-bye again.”
 </p>
<p>
  Pulcheria Alexandrovna meant to greet Sonia, too; but it somehow failed to
  come off, and she went in a flutter out of the room.
</p>
<p>
  But Avdotya Romanovna seemed to await her turn, and following her mother
  out, gave Sonia an attentive, courteous bow. Sonia, in confusion, gave a
  hurried, frightened curtsy. There was a look of poignant discomfort in her
  face, as though Avdotya Romanovna’s courtesy and attention were oppressive
  and painful to her.
</p>
<p>
  “Dounia, good-bye,” called Raskolnikov, in the passage. “Give me your
  hand.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Why, I did give it to you. Have you forgotten?” said Dounia, turning
  warmly and awkwardly to him.
</p>
<p>
  “Never mind, give it to me again.” And he squeezed her fingers warmly.
</p>
<p>
  Dounia smiled, flushed, pulled her hand away, and went off quite happy.
</p>
<p>
  “Come, that’s capital,” he said to Sonia, going back and looking brightly
  at her. “God give peace to the dead, the living have still to live. That
  is right, isn’t it?”
 </p>
<p>
  Sonia looked surprised at the sudden brightness of his face. He looked at
  her for some moments in silence. The whole history of the dead father
  floated before his memory in those moments....
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  “Heavens, Dounia,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, as soon as they were in
  the street, “I really feel relieved myself at coming away—more at
  ease. How little did I think yesterday in the train that I could ever be
  glad of that.”
 </p>
<p>
  “I tell you again, mother, he is still very ill. Don’t you see it? Perhaps
  worrying about us upset him. We must be patient, and much, much can be
  forgiven.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Well, you were not very patient!” Pulcheria Alexandrovna caught her up,
  hotly and jealously. “Do you know, Dounia, I was looking at you two. You
  are the very portrait of him, and not so much in face as in soul. You are
  both melancholy, both morose and hot-tempered, both haughty and both
  generous.... Surely he can’t be an egoist, Dounia. Eh? When I think of
  what is in store for us this evening, my heart sinks!”
 </p>
<p>
  “Don’t be uneasy, mother. What must be, will be.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Dounia, only think what a position we are in! What if Pyotr Petrovitch
  breaks it off?” poor Pulcheria Alexandrovna blurted out, incautiously.
</p>
<p>
  “He won’t be worth much if he does,” answered Dounia, sharply and
  contemptuously.
</p>
<p>
  “We did well to come away,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly broke in. “He
  was in a hurry about some business or other. If he gets out and has a
  breath of air... it is fearfully close in his room.... But where is one to
  get a breath of air here? The very streets here feel like shut-up rooms.
  Good heavens! what a town!... stay... this side... they will crush you—carrying
  something. Why, it is a piano they have got, I declare... how they
  push!... I am very much afraid of that young woman, too.”
 </p>
<p>
  “What young woman, mother?
</p>
<p>
  “Why, that Sofya Semyonovna, who was there just now.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Why?”
 </p>
<p>
  “I have a presentiment, Dounia. Well, you may believe it or not, but as
  soon as she came in, that very minute, I felt that she was the chief cause
  of the trouble....”
 </p>
<p>
  “Nothing of the sort!” cried Dounia, in vexation. “What nonsense, with
  your presentiments, mother! He only made her acquaintance the evening
  before, and he did not know her when she came in.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Well, you will see.... She worries me; but you will see, you will see! I
  was so frightened. She was gazing at me with those eyes. I could scarcely
  sit still in my chair when he began introducing her, do you remember? It
  seems so strange, but Pyotr Petrovitch writes like that about her, and he
  introduces her to us—to you! So he must think a great deal of her.”
 </p>
<p>
  “People will write anything. We were talked about and written about, too.
  Have you forgotten? I am sure that she is a good girl, and that it is all
  nonsense.”
 </p>
<p>
  “God grant it may be!”
 </p>
<p>
  “And Pyotr Petrovitch is a contemptible slanderer,” Dounia snapped out,
  suddenly.
</p>
<p>
  Pulcheria Alexandrovna was crushed; the conversation was not resumed.
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  “I will tell you what I want with you,” said Raskolnikov, drawing
  Razumihin to the window.
</p>
<p>
  “Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming,” Sonia said
  hurriedly, preparing to depart.
</p>
<p>
  “One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have no secrets. You are not in our way.
  I want to have another word or two with you. Listen!” he turned suddenly
  to Razumihin again. “You know that... what’s his name... Porfiry
  Petrovitch?”
 </p>
<p>
  “I should think so! He is a relation. Why?” added the latter, with
  interest.
</p>
<p>
  “Is not he managing that case... you know, about that murder?... You were
  speaking about it yesterday.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Yes... well?” Razumihin’s eyes opened wide.
</p>
<p>
  “He was inquiring for people who had pawned things, and I have some
  pledges there, too—trifles—a ring my sister gave me as a
  keepsake when I left home, and my father’s silver watch—they are
  only worth five or six roubles altogether... but I value them. So what am
  I to do now? I do not want to lose the things, especially the watch. I was
  quaking just now, for fear mother would ask to look at it, when we spoke
  of Dounia’s watch. It is the only thing of father’s left us. She would be
  ill if it were lost. You know what women are. So tell me what to do. I
  know I ought to have given notice at the police station, but would it not
  be better to go straight to Porfiry? Eh? What do you think? The matter
  might be settled more quickly. You see, mother may ask for it before
  dinner.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Certainly not to the police station. Certainly to Porfiry,” Razumihin
  shouted in extraordinary excitement. “Well, how glad I am. Let us go at
  once. It is a couple of steps. We shall be sure to find him.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Very well, let us go.”
 </p>
<p>
  “And he will be very, very glad to make your acquaintance. I have often
  talked to him of you at different times. I was speaking of you yesterday.
  Let us go. So you knew the old woman? So that’s it! It is all turning out
  splendidly.... Oh, yes, Sofya Ivanovna...”
 </p>
<p>
  “Sofya Semyonovna,” corrected Raskolnikov. “Sofya Semyonovna, this is my
  friend Razumihin, and he is a good man.”
 </p>
<p>
  “If you have to go now,” Sonia was beginning, not looking at Razumihin at
  all, and still more embarrassed.
</p>
<p>
  “Let us go,” decided Raskolnikov. “I will come to you to-day, Sofya
  Semyonovna. Only tell me where you live.”
 </p>
<p>
  He was not exactly ill at ease, but seemed hurried, and avoided her eyes.
  Sonia gave her address, and flushed as she did so. They all went out
  together.
</p>
<p>
  “Don’t you lock up?” asked Razumihin, following him on to the stairs.
</p>
<p>
  “Never,” answered Raskolnikov. “I have been meaning to buy a lock for
  these two years. People are happy who have no need of locks,” he said,
  laughing, to Sonia. They stood still in the gateway.
</p>
<p>
  “Do you go to the right, Sofya Semyonovna? How did you find me, by the
  way?” he added, as though he wanted to say something quite different. He
  wanted to look at her soft clear eyes, but this was not easy.
</p>
<p>
  “Why, you gave your address to Polenka yesterday.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Polenka? Oh, yes; Polenka, that is the little girl. She is your sister?
  Did I give her the address?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Why, had you forgotten?”
 </p>
<p>
  “No, I remember.”
 </p>
<p>
  “I had heard my father speak of you... only I did not know your name, and
  he did not know it. And now I came... and as I had learnt your name, I
  asked to-day, ‘Where does Mr. Raskolnikov live?’ I did not know you had
  only a room too.... Good-bye, I will tell Katerina Ivanovna.”
 </p>
<p>
  She was extremely glad to escape at last; she went away looking down,
  hurrying to get out of sight as soon as possible, to walk the twenty steps
  to the turning on the right and to be at last alone, and then moving
  rapidly along, looking at no one, noticing nothing, to think, to remember,
  to meditate on every word, every detail. Never, never had she felt
  anything like this. Dimly and unconsciously a whole new world was opening
  before her. She remembered suddenly that Raskolnikov meant to come to her
  that day, perhaps at once!
</p>
<p>
  “Only not to-day, please, not to-day!” she kept muttering with a sinking
  heart, as though entreating someone, like a frightened child. “Mercy! to
  me... to that room... he will see... oh, dear!”
 </p>
<p>
  She was not capable at that instant of noticing an unknown gentleman who
  was watching her and following at her heels. He had accompanied her from
  the gateway. At the moment when Razumihin, Raskolnikov, and she stood
  still at parting on the pavement, this gentleman, who was just passing,
  started on hearing Sonia’s words: “and I asked where Mr. Raskolnikov
  lived?” He turned a rapid but attentive look upon all three, especially
  upon Raskolnikov, to whom Sonia was speaking; then looked back and noted
  the house. All this was done in an instant as he passed, and trying not to
  betray his interest, he walked on more slowly as though waiting for
  something. He was waiting for Sonia; he saw that they were parting, and
  that Sonia was going home.
</p>
<p>
  “Home? Where? I’ve seen that face somewhere,” he thought. “I must find
  out.”
 </p>
<p>
  At the turning he crossed over, looked round, and saw Sonia coming the
  same way, noticing nothing. She turned the corner. He followed her on the
  other side. After about fifty paces he crossed over again, overtook her
  and kept two or three yards behind her.
</p>
<p>
  He was a man about fifty, rather tall and thickly set, with broad high
  shoulders which made him look as though he stooped a little. He wore good
  and fashionable clothes, and looked like a gentleman of position. He
  carried a handsome cane, which he tapped on the pavement at each step; his
  gloves were spotless. He had a broad, rather pleasant face with high
  cheek-bones and a fresh colour, not often seen in Petersburg. His flaxen
  hair was still abundant, and only touched here and there with grey, and
  his thick square beard was even lighter than his hair. His eyes were blue
  and had a cold and thoughtful look; his lips were crimson. He was a
  remarkedly well-preserved man and looked much younger than his years.
</p>
<p>
  When Sonia came out on the canal bank, they were the only two persons on
  the pavement. He observed her dreaminess and preoccupation. On reaching
  the house where she lodged, Sonia turned in at the gate; he followed her,
  seeming rather surprised. In the courtyard she turned to the right corner.
  “Bah!” muttered the unknown gentleman, and mounted the stairs behind her.
  Only then Sonia noticed him. She reached the third storey, turned down the
  passage, and rang at No. 9. On the door was inscribed in chalk,
  “Kapernaumov, Tailor.” “Bah!” the stranger repeated again, wondering at
  the strange coincidence, and he rang next door, at No. 8. The doors were
  two or three yards apart.
</p>
<p>
  “You lodge at Kapernaumov’s,” he said, looking at Sonia and laughing. “He
  altered a waistcoat for me yesterday. I am staying close here at Madame
  Resslich’s. How odd!” Sonia looked at him attentively.
</p>
<p>
  “We are neighbours,” he went on gaily. “I only came to town the day before
  yesterday. Good-bye for the present.”
 </p>
<p>
  Sonia made no reply; the door opened and she slipped in. She felt for some
  reason ashamed and uneasy.
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  On the way to Porfiry’s, Razumihin was obviously excited.
</p>
<p>
  “That’s capital, brother,” he repeated several times, “and I am glad! I am
  glad!”
 </p>
<p>
  “What are you glad about?” Raskolnikov thought to himself.
</p>
<p>
  “I didn’t know that you pledged things at the old woman’s, too. And... was
  it long ago? I mean, was it long since you were there?”
 </p>
<p>
  “What a simple-hearted fool he is!”
 </p>
<p>
  “When was it?” Raskolnikov stopped still to recollect. “Two or three days
  before her death it must have been. But I am not going to redeem the
  things now,” he put in with a sort of hurried and conspicuous solicitude
  about the things. “I’ve not more than a silver rouble left... after last
  night’s accursed delirium!”
 </p>
<p>
  He laid special emphasis on the delirium.
</p>
<p>
  “Yes, yes,” Razumihin hastened to agree—with what was not clear.
  “Then that’s why you... were stuck... partly... you know in your delirium
  you were continually mentioning some rings or chains! Yes, yes... that’s
  clear, it’s all clear now.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Hullo! How that idea must have got about among them. Here this man will
  go to the stake for me, and I find him delighted at having it <i>cleared
  up</i> why I spoke of rings in my delirium! What a hold the idea must have
  on all of them!”
 </p>
<p>
  “Shall we find him?” he asked suddenly.
</p>
<p>
  “Oh, yes,” Razumihin answered quickly. “He is a nice fellow, you will see,
  brother. Rather clumsy, that is to say, he is a man of polished manners,
  but I mean clumsy in a different sense. He is an intelligent fellow, very
  much so indeed, but he has his own range of ideas.... He is incredulous,
  sceptical, cynical... he likes to impose on people, or rather to make fun
  of them. His is the old, circumstantial method.... But he understands his
  work... thoroughly.... Last year he cleared up a case of murder in which
  the police had hardly a clue. He is very, very anxious to make your
  acquaintance!”
 </p>
<p>
  “On what grounds is he so anxious?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Oh, it’s not exactly... you see, since you’ve been ill I happen to have
  mentioned you several times.... So, when he heard about you... about your
  being a law student and not able to finish your studies, he said, ‘What a
  pity!’ And so I concluded... from everything together, not only that;
  yesterday Zametov... you know, Rodya, I talked some nonsense on the way
  home to you yesterday, when I was drunk... I am afraid, brother, of your
  exaggerating it, you see.”
 </p>
<p>
  “What? That they think I am a madman? Maybe they are right,” he said with
  a constrained smile.
</p>
<p>
  “Yes, yes.... That is, pooh, no!... But all that I said (and there was
  something else too) it was all nonsense, drunken nonsense.”
 </p>
<p>
  “But why are you apologising? I am so sick of it all!” Raskolnikov cried
  with exaggerated irritability. It was partly assumed, however.
</p>
<p>
  “I know, I know, I understand. Believe me, I understand. One’s ashamed to
  speak of it.”
 </p>
<p>
  “If you are ashamed, then don’t speak of it.”
 </p>
<p>
  Both were silent. Razumihin was more than ecstatic and Raskolnikov
  perceived it with repulsion. He was alarmed, too, by what Razumihin had
  just said about Porfiry.
</p>
<p>
  “I shall have to pull a long face with him too,” he thought, with a
  beating heart, and he turned white, “and do it naturally, too. But the
  most natural thing would be to do nothing at all. Carefully do nothing at
  all! No, <i>carefully</i> would not be natural again.... Oh, well, we
  shall see how it turns out.... We shall see... directly. Is it a good
  thing to go or not? The butterfly flies to the light. My heart is beating,
  that’s what’s bad!”
 </p>
<p>
  “In this grey house,” said Razumihin.
</p>
<p>
  “The most important thing, does Porfiry know that I was at the old hag’s
  flat yesterday... and asked about the blood? I must find that out
  instantly, as soon as I go in, find out from his face; otherwise... I’ll
  find out, if it’s my ruin.”
 </p>
<p>
  “I say, brother,” he said suddenly, addressing Razumihin, with a sly
  smile, “I have been noticing all day that you seem to be curiously
  excited. Isn’t it so?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Excited? Not a bit of it,” said Razumihin, stung to the quick.
</p>
<p>
  “Yes, brother, I assure you it’s noticeable. Why, you sat on your chair in
  a way you never do sit, on the edge somehow, and you seemed to be writhing
  all the time. You kept jumping up for nothing. One moment you were angry,
  and the next your face looked like a sweetmeat. You even blushed;
  especially when you were invited to dinner, you blushed awfully.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Nothing of the sort, nonsense! What do you mean?”
 </p>
<p>
  “But why are you wriggling out of it, like a schoolboy? By Jove, there
  he’s blushing again.”
 </p>
<p>
  “What a pig you are!”
 </p>
<p>
  “But why are you so shamefaced about it? Romeo! Stay, I’ll tell of you
  to-day. Ha-ha-ha! I’ll make mother laugh, and someone else, too...”
 </p>
<p>
  “Listen, listen, listen, this is serious.... What next, you fiend!”
   Razumihin was utterly overwhelmed, turning cold with horror. “What will
  you tell them? Come, brother... foo! what a pig you are!”
 </p>
<p>
  “You are like a summer rose. And if only you knew how it suits you; a
  Romeo over six foot high! And how you’ve washed to-day—you cleaned
  your nails, I declare. Eh? That’s something unheard of! Why, I do believe
  you’ve got pomatum on your hair! Bend down.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Pig!”
 </p>
<p>
  Raskolnikov laughed as though he could not restrain himself. So laughing,
  they entered Porfiry Petrovitch’s flat. This is what Raskolnikov wanted:
  from within they could be heard laughing as they came in, still guffawing
  in the passage.
</p>
<p>
  “Not a word here or I’ll... brain you!” Razumihin whispered furiously,
  seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder.
</p>