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He went out, trembling all over from a sort of wild hysterical

sensation, in which there was an element of insufferable rapture.

Yet he was gloomy and terribly tired. His face was twisted as

after a fit. His fatigue increased rapidly. Any shock, any

irritating sensation stimulated and revived his energies at once,

but his strength failed as quickly when the stimulus was removed.

Zametov, left alone, sat for a long time in the same place,

plunged in thought. Raskolnikov had unwittingly worked a

revolution in his brain on a certain point and had made up his

mind for him conclusively.

"Ilya Petrovitch is a blockhead," he decided.

Raskolnikov had hardly opened the door of the restaurant when he

stumbled against Razumihin on the steps. They did not see each

other till they almost knocked against each other. For a moment

they stood looking each other up and down. Razumihin was greatly

astounded, then anger, real anger gleamed fiercely in his eyes.