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"Upon my word," Luzhin cried wrathfully and irritably, crimson

with confusion, "to distort my words in this way! Excuse me,

allow me to assure you that the report which has reached you, or

rather, let me say, has been conveyed to you, has no foundation

in truth, and I... suspect who... in a word... this arrow... in a

word, your mamma... She seemed to me in other things, with all

her excellent qualities, of a somewhat high-flown and romantic

way of thinking.... But I was a thousand miles from supposing

that she would misunderstand and misrepresent things in so

fanciful a way.... And indeed... indeed..."

"I tell you what," cried Raskolnikov, raising himself on his

pillow and fixing his piercing, glittering eyes upon him, "I tell

you what."

"What?" Luzhin stood still, waiting with a defiant and offended

face. Silence lasted for some seconds.

"Why, if ever again... you dare to mention a single word... about

my mother... I shall send you flying downstairs!"