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He moved his chair back from the table, made a little space

between the table and his knees, and waited in a rather cramped

position for the visitor to "thread his way in." The minute was

so chosen that it was impossible to refuse, and the visitor

squeezed his way through, hurrying and stumbling. Reaching the

chair, he sat down, looking suspiciously at Razumihin.

"No need to be nervous," the latter blurted out. "Rodya has been

ill for the last five days and delirious for three, but now he is

recovering and has got an appetite. This is his doctor, who has

just had a look at him. I am a comrade of Rodya's, like him,

formerly a student, and now I am nursing him; so don't you take

any notice of us, but go on with your business."

"Thank you. But shall I not disturb the invalid by my presence

and conversation?" Pyotr Petrovitch asked of Zossimov.

"N-no," mumbled Zossimov; "you may amuse him." He yawned again.