Page 899 - the-idiot

‘Where is Nastasia Philipovna?’ asked the prince, breath-
lessly.
‘She’s here,’ replied Rogojin, slowly, after a slight pause.
‘Where?’
Rogojin raised his eyes and gazed intently at the prince.
‘Come,’ he said.
He continued to speak in a whisper, very deliberately as
before, and looked strangely thoughtful and dreamy. Even
while he told the story of how he had peeped through the
blind, he gave the impression of wishing to say something
else. They entered the study. In this room some changes had
taken place since the prince last saw it. It was now divided
into two equal parts by a heavy green silk curtain stretched
across it, separating the alcove beyond, where stood Rogo-
jin’s bed, from the rest of the room.
The heavy curtain was drawn now, and it was very dark.
The bright Petersburg summer nights were already begin-
ning to close in, and but for the full moon, it would have
been difficult to distinguish anything in Rogojin’s dismal
room, with the drawn blinds. They could just see one an-
others faces, however, though not in detail. Rogojin’s face
was white, as usual. His glittering eyes watched the prince
with an intent stare.
‘Had you not better light a candle?’ said Muishkin.
‘No, I needn’t,’ replied Rogojin, and taking the oth-
er by the hand he drew him down to a chair. He himself
took a chair opposite and drew it up so close that he almost
pressed against the prince’s knees. At their side was a little
round table.

The Idiot