“What brutes they all are!” he whispered to the prince. Whenever he addressed him he lowered his voice.
“Let them alone, you’re too weak now—”
“Yes, directly; I’ll go away directly. I’ll—”
Suddenly he embraced Muishkin.
“Perhaps you think I am mad, eh?” he asked him, laughing very strangely.
“No, but you—”
“Directly, directly! Stand still a moment, I wish to look in your eyes; don’t speak—stand so—let me look at you! I am bidding farewell to mankind.”
He stood so for ten seconds, gazing at the prince, motionless, deadly pale, his temples wet with perspiration; he held the prince’s hand in a strange grip, as though afraid to let him go.
“Hippolyte, Hippolyte, what is the matter with you?” cried Muishkin.
“Directly! There, that’s enough. I’ll lie down directly. I must drink to the sun’s health. I wish to—I insist upon it! Let go!”