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"Good heavens! What it is? Who is it? What do you want?" "Why, Alyona Ivanovna, you know me... Raskolnikov... here, I brought you the pledge I promised the other day..." and he held out the pledge. The old woman glanced for a moment at the pledge, but at once stared in the eyes of her uninvited visitor. She looked intently, maliciously and mistrustfully. A minute passed; he even fancied something like a sneer in her eyes, as though she had already guessed everything. He felt that he was losing his head, that he was almost frightened, so frightened that if she were to look like that and not say a word for another half minute, he thought he would have run away from her.

He felt that he was losing his head, that he was almost frightened, so frightened that if she were to look like that and not say a word for another half minute, he thought he would have run away from her. "Why do you look at me as though you did not know me?" he said suddenly, also with malice. "Take it if you like, if not I'll go elsewhere, I am in a hurry." He had not even thought of saying this, but it was suddenly said of itself. The old woman recovered herself, and her visitor's resolute tone evidently restored her confidence.

"But why, my good sir, all of a minute.... What is it?" she asked, looking at the pledge. "The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time, you know." She held out her hand."But how pale you are, to be sure... and your hands are trembling too? Have you been bathing, or what?" "Fever," he answered abruptly. "You can't help getting pale... if you've nothing to eat," he added, with difficulty articulating the words. His strength was failing him again. But his answer sounded like the truth; the old woman took the pledge.
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