“All sorts of people keep booths here,” answered the young man, glancing superciliously at Raskolnikov.
“What’s his name?”
“What he was christened.”
“Aren’t you a Zara�sky man, too? Which province?”
The young man looked at Raskolnikov again.
“It’s not a province, your excellency, but a district. Graciously forgive me, your excellency!”
“Is that a tavern at the top there?”
“Yes, it’s an eating-house and there’s a billiard-room and you’ll find princesses there too... La-la!”