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- Стр. 119/453
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“
I
love
to
hear
singing
to
a
street
organ
,
”
said
Raskolnikov
,
and
his
manner
seemed
strangely
out
of
keeping
with
the
subject
—
“
I
like
it
on
cold
,
dark
,
damp
autumn
evenings
—
they
must
be
damp
—
when
all
the
passers
-
by
have
pale
green
,
sickly
faces
,
or
better
still
when
wet
snow
is
falling
straight
down
,
when
there
’
s
no
wind
—
you
know
what
I
mean
?
—
and
the
street
lamps
shine
through
it
.
.
.
”
“
I
don
’
t
know
.
.
.
.
Excuse
me
.
.
.
”
muttered
the
stranger
,
frightened
by
the
question
and
Raskolnikov
’
s
strange
manner
,
and
he
crossed
over
to
the
other
side
of
the
street
.
Raskolnikov
walked
straight
on
and
came
out
at
the
corner
of
the
Hay
Market
,
where
the
huckster
and
his
wife
had
talked
with
Lizaveta
;
but
they
were
not
there
now
.
Recognising
the
place
,
he
stopped
,
looked
round
and
addressed
a
young
fellow
in
a
red
shirt
who
stood
gaping
before
a
corn
chandler
’
s
shop
.
“
Isn
’
t
there
a
man
who
keeps
a
booth
with
his
wife
at
this
corner
?
”
“
All
sorts
of
people
keep
booths
here
,
”
answered
the
young
man
,
glancing
superciliously
at
Raskolnikov
.
“
What
’
s
his
name
?
”
“
What
he
was
christened
.
”
“
Aren
’
t
you
a
Zaraïsky
man
,
too
?
Which
province
?
”
The
young
man
looked
at
Raskolnikov
again
.
“
It
’
s
not
a
province
,
your
excellency
,
but
a
district
.
Graciously
forgive
me
,
your
excellency
!
”
