It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder

It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder

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It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder, but to Raskolnikov in his present state  of mind this was positively agreeable. He had got completely away from everyone, like a tortoise in  its shell, and even the sight of a servant girl who had to wait upon him and looked sometimes into his  room made him writhe with nervous irritation. He was in the condition that overtakes some  monomaniacs entirely concentrated upon one thing. His landlady had for the last fortnight given up  sending him in meals, and he had not yet thought of expostulating with her, though he went without  his dinner. Nastasya, the cook and only servant, was rather pleased at the lodger's mood and had  entirely given up sweeping and doing his room, only once a week or so she would stray into his room  with a broom. She waked him up that day. "Get up, why are you asleep?" she called to him. "It's past nine, I have brought you some tea; will  you have a cup? I should think you're fairly starving?" Raskolnikov opened his eyes, started and recognised Nastasya. "From the landlady, eh?" he asked, slowly and with a sickly face sitting up on the sofa.
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It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder

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