Chapter 4

           Zossimovwasatall,fatmanwithapuffy,colourless,clean-shavenfaceandstraightflaxenhair.Heworespectacles,andabiggoldringonhisfatfinger.Hewastwenty-seven.Hehadonalightgreyfashionableloosecoat,lightsummertrousers,andeverythingabouthimloose,fashionableandspickandspan;hislinenwasirreproachable,hiswatch-chainwasmassive.Inmannerhewasslowand,asitwere,nonchalant,andatthesametimestudiouslyfreeandeasy;hemadeeffortstoconcealhisself-importance,butitwasapparentateveryinstant.Allhisacquaintancesfoundhimtedious,butsaidhewascleverathiswork.

           “I’vebeentoyoutwiceto-day,brother.Yousee,he’scometohimself,”criedRazumihin.

           “Isee,Isee;andhowdowefeelnow,eh?”saidZossimovtoRaskolnikov,watchinghimcarefullyand,sittingdownatthefootofthesofa,hesettledhimselfascomfortablyashecould.

           “Heisstilldepressed,”Razumihinwenton.“We’vejustchangedhislinenandhealmostcried.”

           “That’sverynatural;youmighthaveputitoffifhedidnotwishit....Hispulseisfirst-rate.Isyourheadstillaching,eh?”

           “Iamwell,Iamperfectlywell!”Raskolnikovdeclaredpositivelyandirritably.Heraisedhimselfonthesofaandlookedatthemwithglitteringeyes,butsankbackontothepillowatonceandturnedtothewall.Zossimovwatchedhimintently.

           “Verygood....Goingonallright,”hesaidlazily.“Hasheeatenanything?”

           Theytoldhim,andaskedwhathemighthave.

           “Hemayhaveanything...soup,tea...