Pagina 291 de 1294

"He is himself," echoed the man.

Concluding that he had returned to his senses, the landlady

closed the door and disappeared. She was always shy and dreaded

conversations or discussions. She was a woman of forty, not at

all bad-looking, fat and buxom, with black eyes and eyebrows,

good-natured from fatness and laziness, and absurdly bashful.

"Who... are you?" he went on, addressing the man. But at that

moment the door was flung open, and, stooping a little, as he was

so tall, Razumihin came in.

"What a cabin it is!" he cried. "I am always knocking my head.

You call this a lodging! So you are conscious, brother? I've just

heard the news from Pashenka."

"He has just come to," said Nastasya.

"Just come to," echoed the man again, with a smile.

"And who are you?" Razumihin asked, suddenly addressing him. "My

name is Vrazumihin, at your service; not Razumihin, as I am

always called, but Vrazumihin, a student and gentleman; and he is

my friend. And who are you?"