The Importance of Honesty

He was wearing an old and hopelessly ragged black dress coat with all its buttons missing except one. A crumpled shirt front covered with spots and stains, protruded from his canvas waistcoat like a clerk. He wor no beard nor mustache, but had been so long unshaven that his chin looked like a stiff grayish brush. The young man pounced upon raskolnikov as greedily, as though he too had not spoken to a soul for a month. "I make bold to inquire, have you been in the service? No, i am studying"

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