picked out one clumsy, white flower with brown lines on it and began

examining how many petals there were in it, how many scallops in the

petals and how many lines on them. He felt his arms and legs as

lifeless as though they had been cut off. He did not attempt to

move, but stared obstinately at the flower.

"But what about the painter?" Zossimov interrupted Nastasya's

chatter with marked displeasure. She sighed and was silent.

"Why, he was accused of the murder," Razumihin went on hotly.