too, a phantom?

The silence had lasted a long time. "He is no longer here," was the
thought against which Razumov struggled desperately, quite frightened at
its absurdity. "He is already gone and this...only..."

He could resist no longer. He sprang to his feet, saying aloud, "I am
intolerably anxious," and in a few headlong strides stood by the side
of the bed. His hand fell lightly on Haldin's shoulder, and directly
he felt its reality he was beset by an insane temptation to grip that
exposed throat and squeeze the breath out of that body, lest it should
escape his custody, leaving only a phantom behind.

Haldin did not stir a limb, but his overshadowed eyes moving a little
gazed upwards at Razumov with wistful gratitude for this manifestation
of feeling.

Razumov turned away and strode up and down the room. "It would have been
possibly a kindness," he muttered to himself, and was appalled by the
nature of that apology for a murderous intention his mind had found
somewhere within him. And all the same he could not give it up. He
became lucid about it. "What can he expect?" he thought. "The halter--in
the end. And I...."

This argument was interrupted by Haldin's voice.

"Why be anxious for me? They can kill my body, but they cannot exile my
soul from this world. I tell you what--I believe in this world so much
that I cannot conceive eternity otherwise than as a very long life. That
is perhaps the reason I am so ready to die."