"We were about seven versts from the shoulder of the Neva when the plot began to take hold..."

I remember thinking to myself: "What if a certain man, in the interests of saving humanity, were to raise himself above conventional morality and axe-murder an elderly pawnbroker?" And suddenly I was pouring sweat and feverish and the air above me was filled with people visiting and trying to figure out what was wrong with me and while the guilty essence of my monomanaical fixation gradually surfaced through half-coherent outbursts of delerium my sister was marrying this geek named Luzhin to save us from financial ruin and there was this other guy running around raping his servants and demonstrating symbolically the utter impossibility of reconciling pure hedonism with a conscience influenced by the divine. I remember saying to Razumkhin: "I feel a little light-headed; maybe I should lie down for a while." Meanwhile the Prosecuting Attorney was sitting next to me in the tavern and pouring out a glass of vodka to facilitate the confession process. "Jesus," he was saying. "I think you took a little too much of that stuff." Poor bastard, I thought. Just wait until he finds that brooch-pin.

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