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"Is it you?" he cried. He looked his comrade up and down; then

after a brief pause, he whistled. "As hard up as all that! Why,

brother, you've cut me out!" he added, looking at Raskolnikov's

rags. "Come sit down, you are tired, I'll be bound."

And when he had sunk down on the American leather sofa, which was

in even worse condition than his own, Razumihin saw at once that

his visitor was ill.

"Why, you are seriously ill, do you know that?" He began feeling

his pulse. Raskolnikov pulled away his hand.

"Never mind," he said, "I have come for this: I have no

lessons.... I wanted,... but I don't really want lessons...."

"But I say! You are delirious, you know!" Razumihin observed,

watching him carefully.

"No, I am not."