And in one flash he recalled with extraordinary vividness of sensation a moment in the recent past, that moment when he stood with the axe behind the door, while the latch trembled and the men outside swore and shook it, and he had a sudden desire to shout at them, to swear at them, to put out his tongue at them, to mock them, to laugh, and laugh, and laugh! "You are either mad, or..." began Zametov, and he broke off, as though stunned by the idea that had suddenly flashed into his mind.
"Or?
Or what?
What?
Come, tell me!" "Nothing," said Zametov, getting angry, "it's all nonsense!" Both were silent.

After his sudden fit of laughter Raskolnikov became suddenly thoughtful and melancholy.

He put his elbow on the table and leaned his head on his hand.

He seemed to have completely forgotten Zametov.

The silence lasted for some time.
"Why don't you drink your tea?
It's getting cold," said Zametov.
"What! Tea?
Oh, yes...." Raskolnikov sipped the glass, put a morsel of bread in his mouth and, suddenly looking at Zametov, seemed to remember everything and pulled himself together.