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〃Yes； yes； I understand；〃 answered the officer； watching his excited
companion attentively。
〃Well； listen then。 On the other side； fresh young lives thrown away
for want of help and by thousands； on every side！ A hundred thousand
good deeds could be done and helped； on that old woman's money which
will be buried in a monastery！ Hundreds； thousands perhaps； might be
set on the right path； dozens of families saved from destitution； from
ruin； from vice； from the Lock hospitals… and all with her money。 Kill
her； take her money and with the help of it devote oneself to the
service of humanity and the good of all。 What do you think； would
not one tiny crime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds？ For one
life thousands would be saved from corruption and decay。 One death；
and a hundred lives in exchange… it's simple arithmetic！ Besides； what
value has the life of that sickly； stupid； ill…natured old woman in
the balance of existence！ No more than the life of a louse； of a black
beetle； less in fact because the old woman is doing harm。 She is
wearing out the lives of others； the other day she bit Lizaveta's
finger out of spite； it almost had to be amputated。〃
〃Of course she does not deserve to live；〃 remarked the officer； 〃but
there it is； it's nature。〃
〃Oh； well； brother； but we have to correct and direct nature； and；
but for that； we should drown in an ocean of prejudice。 But for
that； there would never have been a single great man。 They talk of
duty； conscience… I don't want to say anything against duty and
conscience；… but the point is what do we mean by them。 Stay； I have
another question to ask you。 Listen！〃
〃No； you stay； I'll ask you a question。 Listen！〃
〃Well？〃
〃You are talking and speechifying away； but tell me； would you
kill the old woman yourself？〃
〃Of course not！ I was only arguing the justice of it。。。。 It's
nothing to do with me。。。。〃
〃But I think； if you would not do it yourself； there's no justice
about it。。。。 Let us have another game。〃
Raskolnikov was violently agitated。 Of course； it was all ordinary
youthful talk and thought； such as he had often heard before in
different forms and on different themes。 But why had he happened to
hear such a discussion and such ideas at the very moment when his
own brain was just conceiving。。。 the very same ideas？ And why； just at
the moment when he had brought away the embryo of his idea from the
old woman had he dropped at once upon a conversation about her？ This
coincidence always seemed strange to him。 This trivial talk in a
tavern had an immense influence on him in his later action； as
though there had really been in it something preordained； some guiding
hint。。。。
…
On returning from the Hay Market he flung himself on the sofa and
sat for a whole hour without stirring。 Meanwhile it got dark； he had
no candle and； indeed； it did not occur to him to light up。 He could
never recollect whether he had been thinking about anything at that
time。 At last he was conscious of his former fever and shivering；
and he realised with relief that he could lie down on the sofa。 Soon
heavy； leaden sleep came over him； as it were crushing him。
He slept an extraordinarily long time and without dreaming。
Nastasya； coming into his room at ten o'clock the next morning； had
difficulty in rousing him。 She brought him in tea and bread。 The tea
was again the second brew and again in her own tea…pot。
〃My goodness； how he sleeps！〃 she cried indignantly。 〃And he is
always asleep。〃
He got up with an effort。 His head ached； he stood up； took a turn
in his garret and sank back on the sofa again。
〃Going to sleep again；〃 cried Nastasya。 〃Are you ill； eh？〃
He made no reply。
〃Do you want some tea？〃
〃Afterwards；〃 he said with an effort； closing his eyes again and
turning to the wall。
Nastasya stood over him。
〃Perhaps he really is ill；〃 she said； turned and went out。 She
came in again at two o'clock with soup。 He was lying as before。 The
tea stood untouched。 Nastasya felt positively offended and began
wrathfully rousing him。
〃Why are you lying like a log？〃 she shouted； looking at him with
repulsion。
He got up； and sat down again； but said nothing and stared at the
floor。
〃Are you ill or not？〃 asked Nastasya and again received no answer。
〃You'd better go out and get a breath of air；〃 she said after a pause。
〃Will you eat it or not？〃
〃Afterwards；〃 he said weakly。 〃You can go。〃
And he motioned her out。
She remained a little longer； looked at him with compassion and went
out。
A few minutes afterwards； he raised his eyes and looked for a long
while at the tea and the soup。 Then he took the bread； took up a spoon
and began to eat。
He ate a little； three or four spoonfuls； without appetite as it
were mechanically。 His head ached less。 After his meal he stretched
himself on the sofa again； but now he could not sleep； he lay
without stirring； with his face in the pillow。 He was haunted by
daydreams and such strange daydreams； in one； that kept recurring；
he fancied that he was in Africa； in Egypt； in some sort of oasis。 The
caravan was resting； the camels were peacefully lying down； the
palms stood all around in a complete circle； all the party were at
dinner。 But he