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it were

set free.

So they

walked for

about a

hundred

paces,

side by

side in

silence.

The man

did not

look at

him. “What

do you

mean …

what is. …

Who is a

murderer?”

muttered

Raskolnikov

hardly

audibly.

“You are a

murderer,”

the man

answered

still more

articulately

and

emphatically,

with a

smile of

triumphant

hatred,

and again

he looked

straight

into

Raskolnikov’s

pale face

and

stricken

eyes. They

had just

reached

the

cross-roads.

The man

turned to