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- Стр. 183/453
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“
That
’
s
true
,
”
Raskolnikov
answered
with
special
carefulness
.
“
I
remember
everything
even
to
the
slightest
detail
,
and
yet
—
why
I
did
that
and
went
there
and
said
that
,
I
can
’
t
clearly
explain
now
.
”
“
A
familiar
phenomenon
,
”
interposed
Zossimov
,
“
actions
are
sometimes
performed
in
a
masterly
and
most
cunning
way
,
while
the
direction
of
the
actions
is
deranged
and
dependent
on
various
morbid
impressions
—
it
’
s
like
a
dream
.
”
“
Perhaps
it
’
s
a
good
thing
really
that
he
should
think
me
almost
a
madman
,
”
thought
Raskolnikov
.
“
Why
,
people
in
perfect
health
act
in
the
same
way
too
,
”
observed
Dounia
,
looking
uneasily
at
Zossimov
.
“
There
is
some
truth
in
your
observation
,
”
the
latter
replied
.
“
In
that
sense
we
are
certainly
all
not
infrequently
like
madmen
,
but
with
the
slight
difference
that
the
deranged
are
somewhat
madder
,
for
we
must
draw
a
line
.
A
normal
man
,
it
is
true
,
hardly
exists
.
Among
dozens
—
perhaps
hundreds
of
thousands
—
hardly
one
is
to
be
met
with
.
”
At
the
word
“
madman
,
”
carelessly
dropped
by
Zossimov
in
his
chatter
on
his
favourite
subject
,
everyone
frowned
.
Raskolnikov
sat
seeming
not
to
pay
attention
,
plunged
in
thought
with
a
strange
smile
on
his
pale
lips
.
He
was
still
meditating
on
something
.
“
Well
,
what
about
the
man
who
was
run
over
?
I
interrupted
you
!
”
Razumihin
cried
hastily
.
“
What
?
”
Raskolnikov
seemed
to
wake
up
.
“
Oh
.
.
.
I
got
spattered
with
blood
helping
to
carry
him
to
his
lodging
.
By
the
way
,
mamma
,
I
did
an
unpardonable
thing
yesterday
.
I
was
literally
out
of
my
mind
.
I
gave
away
all
the
money
you
sent
me
.
.
.
to
his
wife
for
the
funeral
.
She
’
s
a
widow
now
,
in
consumption
,
a
poor
creature
.
.
.
three
little
children
,
starving
.
.
.
nothing
in
the
house
.
.
.
there
’
s
a
daughter
,
too
.
.
.
