[ Raskolnikov curses himself. Why had he said that? He wants her to leave! But the thought of being alone in this room, hardly able to move save for the involuntary twitches of his face and hands, makes him want to bury his head under the blanket.
And he really is hungry, no matter what he’d said to her. ]
I can’t…
[ He gestures at the bowl of broth. How is he supposed to eat when he can’t control his limbs? ]
no subject
And he really is hungry, no matter what he’d said to her. ]
I can’t…
[ He gestures at the bowl of broth. How is he supposed to eat when he can’t control his limbs? ]