"Thinking," replied he gravely, after a short silence.
Nastasia was convulsed. She was of a merry disposition, but her laughter was always noiseless, an internal convulsion which made her actually writhe with pain. "And does your thinking bring you any money?" asked she, as soon as she could manage to speak.
"Well! I can't give lessons when I have no boots to go out in?
Besides, I despise them."
"Take care lest you suffer for it."
"There is so little to be made by giving lessons! What can one do with a few kopecks?" said he in an irritable tone, rather to himself than the servant.
"So you wish to make your fortune at one stroke?"
He looked at her rather strangely, and was silent for a moment. "Yes, my fortune," rejoined he impressively.
"Hush! you frighten me, you look terrible. Shall I go and fetch you a roll?"
"Just as you like."
Later in the day, Raskolnikoff went out and wandered about the streets. At last he sat down under a tree to rest, and fell into a reverie. His limbs felt disjointed, and his mind was in darkness and confusion. He placed his elbows on his knees and held his head with his hands.