Raskolnikov nods, because that bit about the trust is more than fair. He certainly doesn’t trust anyone here, not when nearly everyone seems to be hiding something. Well, that’s fine, because so is he.
Without asking for permission, he looks over at whatever it is the man had been reading. A book of photos. A good idea, really; Raskolnikov wants to kick himself for not having thought of that earlier. It would be so much easier than flipping through books that haven’t been updated in half a century.
He’s partially lost in his own thoughts when the man finishes, and he startles as he realizes he’s expected to respond.
“The medic?” He hadn’t seen a medic. Only the telephone in the first hallucination and the terrified woman in the second. Had this man seen something different? He must have, which isn’t a comforting thought. “Did you see anything else?”
no subject
Without asking for permission, he looks over at whatever it is the man had been reading. A book of photos. A good idea, really; Raskolnikov wants to kick himself for not having thought of that earlier. It would be so much easier than flipping through books that haven’t been updated in half a century.
He’s partially lost in his own thoughts when the man finishes, and he startles as he realizes he’s expected to respond.
“The medic?” He hadn’t seen a medic. Only the telephone in the first hallucination and the terrified woman in the second. Had this man seen something different? He must have, which isn’t a comforting thought. “Did you see anything else?”