“It means that I’m sick to death of you all and I want to be alone,” Raskolnikov answered calmly.
“Alone? When you are not able to walk, when your face is as white as a sheet and you are gasping for breath! i***t!... What have you been doing in the Palais de Cristal? Own up at once!”
“Let me go!” said Raskolnikov and tried to pass him. This was too much for Razumihin; he gripped him firmly by the shoulder.
“Let you go? You dare tell me to let you go? Do you know what I’ll do with you directly? I’ll pick you up, tie you up in a bundle, carry you home under my arm and lock you up!”
“Listen, Razumihin,” Raskolnikov began quietly, apparently calm—“can’t you see that I don’t want your benevolence? A strange desire you have to shower benefits on a man who... curses them, who feels them a bur
