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- 214 CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
though repeating a lesson learned by heart. "It is only to-day
that I have been able to realise a little how distressed you must
have been here yesterday, waiting for me to come back."
When he had said this, he suddenly held out his hand to his
sister, smiling without a word. But in this smile there was a
flash of real unfeigned feeling. Dounia caught it at once, and
warmly pressed his hand, overjoyed and thankful. It was the
first time he had addressed her since their dispute the previous
day. The mother's face lighted up with ecstatic happiness at
the sight of this conclusive unspoken reconciliation. "Yes, that
is what I love him for," Razumihin, exaggerating it all, mut-
tered tohimself, with a vigorous turn in his chair. "He has
these movements."
"And how well he does it all," the mother was thinking to
herself. '"What generous impulses he has, and how simply, how
delicately he put an end to all the misunderstanding with his
sister — simply by holding out his hand at the right minute
and looking at her like that. . . . And what fine eyes he has, and
how fine his whole face is! . . . He is even better looking than
Dounia. . . . But, good heavens, what a suit — how terribly he's
dressed! . . . Vasya, the messenger boy in Afanasy Ivanitch's
shop, is better dressed! I could rush at him and hug him . . .
weep over him — but I am afraid. . . . Oh, dear, he's so strange!
He's talking kindly, but I'm afraid! Why, what am I afraid
of? . . ."
"Oh, Rodya, you wouldn't believe," she began suddenly, in
haste to answer his words to her, "how unhappy Dounia and
I were yesterday! Now that it's all over and done with and
we are quite happy again — I can tell you. Fancy, we ran here
almost straight from the train to embrace you and that woman
— ah, here she is! Good morning, Nastasya! . . . She told us at
once that you were lying in a high fever and had just rvm away
from the doctor in delirivun, and they were looking for you in
the streets. You can't imagine how we felt! I couldn't help
thinking of the tragic end of Lieutenant Potanchikov, a friend
of your "father's — you can't remember him, Rodya — who ran
out in the same way in a high fever and fell into the well in
'the courtyard and they couldn't pull him out till next day.
Of course, we exaggerated things. We were on the point of
rushing to find Pyotr Petrovitch to ask him to help. . . . Be-
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