“I will stay with him,” cried Razumihin, “I won’t leave him for a moment. Bother all my visitors! Let them rage to their hearts’ content! My uncle is presiding there.”
“How, how can I thank you!” Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning, once more pressing Razumihin’s hands, but Raskolnikov interrupted her again.
“I can’t have it! I can’t have it!” he repeated irritably, “don’t worry me! Enough, go away... I can’t stand it!”
“Come, mamma, come out of the room at least for a minute,” Dounia whispered in dismay; “we are distressing him, that’s evident.”
“Mayn’t I look at him after three years?” wept Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
“Stay,” he stopped them again, “you keep interrupting me, and my ideas get muddled.... Have you seen Luzhin?”
“No, Rodya, but he knows already of our arrival. We have heard, Rodya, that Pyotr Petrovitch was so kind as to visit you today,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna added somewhat timidly.
“Yes... he was so kind... Dounia, I promised Luzhin I’d throw him downstairs and told him to go to hell....”
“Rodya, what are you saying! Surely, you don’t mean to tell us...” Pulcheria Alexandrovna began in alarm, but she stopped, looking at Dounia.
Avdotya Romanovna was looking attentively at her brother, waiting for what would come next. Both of them had heard of the quarrel from Nastasya, so far as she had succeeded in understanding and reporting it, and were in painful perplexity and suspense.