Chapter 6

           “Idon’tbelieveit,Ican’tbelieveit!”repeatedRazumihin,tryinginperplexitytorefuteRaskolnikov’sarguments.

           TheywerebynowapproachingBakaleyev’slodgings,wherePulcheriaAlexandrovnaandDouniahadbeenexpectingthemalongwhile.Razumihinkeptstoppingonthewayintheheatofdiscussion,confusedandexcitedbytheveryfactthattheywereforthefirsttimespeakingopenlyaboutit.

           “Don’tbelieveit,then!”answeredRaskolnikov,withacold,carelesssmile.“Youwerenoticingnothingasusual,butIwasweighingeveryword.”

           “Youaresuspicious.Thatiswhyyouweighedtheirwords...h’m...certainly,Iagree,Porfiry’stonewasratherstrange,andstillmorethatwretchZametov!...Youareright,therewassomethingabouthim—butwhy?Why?”

           “Hehaschangedhismindsincelastnight.”

           “Quitethecontrary!Iftheyhadthatbrainlessidea,theywoulddotheirutmosttohideit,andconcealtheircards,soastocatchyouafterwards....Butitwasallimpudentandcareless.”

           “Iftheyhadhadfacts—Imean,realfacts—oratleastgroundsforsuspicion,thentheywouldcertainlyhavetriedtohidetheirgame,inthehopeofgettingmore(theywouldhavemadeasearchlongagobesides).Buttheyhavenofacts,notone.Itisallmirage—allambiguous.Simplyafloatingidea.Sotheytrytothrowmeoutbyimpudence.Andperhaps,hewasirritatedathavingnofacts,andblurteditoutinhisvexation—orperhapshehassomeplan...heseemsanintelligentman.