Don't worry the poor woman too much, she is in consumption as it is.

Try and cheer her up, if possible...

you are a kind-hearted man, I know..." he added with a smile, looking straight in his face.
"But you are spattered with blood," observed Nikodim Fomitch, noticing in the lamplight some fresh stains on Raskolnikov's waistcoat.
"Yes...

I'm covered with blood," Raskolnikov said with a peculiar air; then he smiled, nodded and went downstairs.
He walked down slowly and deliberately, feverish but not conscious of it, entirely absorbed in a new overwhelming sensation of life and strength that surged up suddenly within him.

This sensation might be compared to that of a man condemned to death who has suddenly been pardoned.