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- Федор Достоевский
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- Стр. 118/453
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“
Thanks
!
And
I
’
ll
wait
with
Pashenka
meantime
and
will
keep
watch
on
him
through
Nastasya
.
.
.
.
”
Raskolnikov
,
left
alone
,
looked
with
impatience
and
misery
at
Nastasya
,
but
she
still
lingered
.
“
Won
’
t
you
have
some
tea
now
?
”
she
asked
.
“
Later
!
I
am
sleepy
!
Leave
me
.
”
He
turned
abruptly
to
the
wall
;
Nastasya
went
out
.
But
as
soon
as
she
went
out
,
he
got
up
,
latched
the
door
,
undid
the
parcel
which
Razumihin
had
brought
in
that
evening
and
had
tied
up
again
and
began
dressing
.
Strange
to
say
,
he
seemed
immediately
to
have
become
perfectly
calm
;
not
a
trace
of
his
recent
delirium
nor
of
the
panic
fear
that
had
haunted
him
of
late
.
It
was
the
first
moment
of
a
strange
sudden
calm
.
His
movements
were
precise
and
definite
;
a
firm
purpose
was
evident
in
them
.
“
To
-
day
,
to
-
day
,
”
he
muttered
to
himself
.
He
understood
that
he
was
still
weak
,
but
his
intense
spiritual
concentration
gave
him
strength
and
self
-
confidence
.
He
hoped
,
moreover
,
that
he
would
not
fall
down
in
the
street
.
When
he
had
dressed
in
entirely
new
clothes
,
he
looked
at
the
money
lying
on
the
table
,
and
after
a
moment
’
s
thought
put
it
in
his
pocket
.
It
was
twenty
-
five
roubles
.
He
took
also
all
the
copper
change
from
the
ten
roubles
spent
by
Razumihin
on
the
clothes
.
Then
he
softly
unlatched
the
door
,
went
out
,
slipped
downstairs
and
glanced
in
at
the
open
kitchen
door
.
Nastasya
was
standing
with
her
back
to
him
,
blowing
up
the
landlady
’
s
samovar
.
She
heard
nothing
.
Who
would
have
dreamed
of
his
going
out
,
indeed
?
A
minute
later
he
was
in
the
street
.
It
was
nearly
eight
o
’
clock
,
the
sun
was
setting
.
It
was
as
stifling
as
before
,
but
he
eagerly
drank
in
the
stinking
,
dusty
town
air
.
His
head
felt
rather
dizzy
;
a
sort
of
savage
energy
gleamed
suddenly
in
his
feverish
eyes
and
his
wasted
,
pale
and
yellow
face
.
He
did
not
know
and
did
not
think
where
he
was
going
,
he
had
one
thought
only
:
“
that
all
this
must
be
ended
to
-
day
,
once
for
all
,
immediately
;
that
he
would
not
return
home
without
it
,
because
he
would
not
go
on
living
like
that
.
”
How
,
with
what
to
make
an
end
?
He
had
not
an
idea
about
it
,
he
did
not
even
want
to
think
of
it
.
He
drove
away
thought
;
thought
tortured
him
.
All
he
knew
,
all
he
felt
was
that
everything
must
be
changed
“
one
way
or
another
,
”
he
repeated
with
desperate
and
immovable
self
-
confidence
and
determination
.
From
old
habit
he
took
his
usual
walk
in
the
direction
of
the
Hay
Market
.
A
dark
-
haired
young
man
with
a
barrel
organ
was
standing
in
the
road
in
front
of
a
little
general
shop
and
was
grinding
out
a
very
sentimental
song
.
He
was
accompanying
a
girl
of
fifteen
,
who
stood
on
the
pavement
in
front
of
him
.
She
was
dressed
up
in
a
crinoline
,
a
mantle
and
a
straw
hat
with
a
flame
-
coloured
feather
in
it
,
all
very
old
and
shabby
.
In
a
strong
and
rather
agreeable
voice
,
cracked
and
coarsened
by
street
singing
,
she
sang
in
hope
of
getting
a
copper
from
the
shop
.
Raskolnikov
joined
two
or
three
listeners
,
took
out
a
five
copeck
piece
and
put
it
in
the
girl
’
s
hand
.
She
broke
off
abruptly
on
a
sentimental
high
note
,
shouted
sharply
to
the
organ
grinder
“
Come
on
,
”
and
both
moved
on
to
the
next
shop
.
“
Do
you
like
street
music
?
”
said
Raskolnikov
,
addressing
a
middle
-
aged
man
standing
idly
by
him
.
The
man
looked
at
him
,
startled
and
wondering
.
