Liputin ended up hating him so much that he hadn’t the strength to tear himself away. It was something like an attack of nerves. He counted every piece of beefsteak that Pyotr Stepanovich directed into his mouth, hated him for the way he opened it, the way he chewed, the way he savoured and smacked his lips over the pieces that had a bit more fat; he hated the beefsteak itself.
I imagine something like this happened to Pyotr with Stavrogin, abroad only that he did not hate him; for Pyotr I think this moment would have been enrapturous.
