'Ah these cigarettes! ' Porfiry Petrovitch ejaculated at last, having lighted one. 'They are pernicious, positively pernicious, and yet I can’t give them up! I cough, I begin to have tickling in my throat and a difficulty in breathing. You know I am a coward, I went lately to Dr.
B——n; he always gives at least half an hour to each patient. He positively laughed looking at me; he sounded me: ‘Tobacco’s bad for you,’ he said, ‘your lungs are affected. ’ But how am I to give it up? What is there to take its place?
I don’t drink, that’s the mischief, he-he-he, that I don’t. Everything is relative, Rodion Romanovitch, everything is relative! ' 'Why, he’s playing his professional tricks again,' Raskolnikov thought with disgust.
All the circumstances of their last interview suddenly came back to him, and he felt a rush of the feeling that had come upon him then. 'I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didn’t know? ' Porfiry Petrovitch went on, looking round the room.
'I came into this very room. I was passing by, just as I did to-day, and I thought I’d return your call. I walked in as your door was wide open, I looked round, waited and went out without leaving my name with your servant.
Don’t you lock your door? ' Raskolnikov’s face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guess his state of mind. 'I’ve come to have it out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow!
I owe you an explanation and must give it to you,' he continued with a slight smile, just patting Raskolnikov’s knee. But almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into his face; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He had