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"Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck

him, you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you;

now it's clear why it did interest you; knowing all the

circumstances... and how that irritated you and worked in with

your illness... I am a little drunk, brother, only, confound him,

he has some idea of his own... I tell you, he's mad on mental

diseases. But don't you mind him..."

For half a minute both were silent.

"Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you

plainly: I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I

gave them all my money... and besides I've just been kissed by

someone who, if I had killed anyone, would just the same... in

fact I saw someone else there... with a flame-coloured feather...

but I am talking nonsense; I am very weak, support me... we shall

be at the stairs directly..."

"What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked

anxiously.