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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 134/453
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“
Did
you
see
him
?
”
“
Yes
.
”
“
Talked
to
him
?
”
“
Yes
.
”
“
What
about
?
Confound
you
,
don
’
t
tell
me
then
.
Potchinkov
’
s
house
,
47
,
Babushkin
’
s
flat
,
remember
!
”
Raskolnikov
walked
on
and
turned
the
corner
into
Sadovy
Street
.
Razumihin
looked
after
him
thoughtfully
.
Then
with
a
wave
of
his
hand
he
went
into
the
house
but
stopped
short
of
the
stairs
.
“
Confound
it
,
”
he
went
on
almost
aloud
.
“
He
talked
sensibly
but
yet
.
.
.
I
am
a
fool
!
As
if
madmen
didn
’
t
talk
sensibly
!
And
this
was
just
what
Zossimov
seemed
afraid
of
.
”
He
struck
his
finger
on
his
forehead
.
“
What
if
.
.
.
how
could
I
let
him
go
off
alone
?
He
may
drown
himself
.
.
.
.
Ach
,
what
a
blunder
!
I
can
’
t
.
”
And
he
ran
back
to
overtake
Raskolnikov
,
but
there
was
no
trace
of
him
.
With
a
curse
he
returned
with
rapid
steps
to
the
Palais
de
Cristal
to
question
Zametov
.
Raskolnikov
walked
straight
to
X
—
—
Bridge
,
stood
in
the
middle
,
and
leaning
both
elbows
on
the
rail
stared
into
the
distance
.
On
parting
with
Razumihin
,
he
felt
so
much
weaker
that
he
could
scarcely
reach
this
place
.
He
longed
to
sit
or
lie
down
somewhere
in
the
street
.
Bending
over
the
water
,
he
gazed
mechanically
at
the
last
pink
flush
of
the
sunset
,
at
the
row
of
houses
growing
dark
in
the
gathering
twilight
,
at
one
distant
attic
window
on
the
left
bank
,
flashing
as
though
on
fire
in
the
last
rays
of
the
setting
sun
,
at
the
darkening
water
of
the
canal
,
and
the
water
seemed
to
catch
his
attention
.
At
last
red
circles
flashed
before
his
eyes
,
the
houses
seemed
moving
,
the
passers
-
by
,
the
canal
banks
,
the
carriages
,
all
danced
before
his
eyes
.
Suddenly
he
started
,
saved
again
perhaps
from
swooning
by
an
uncanny
and
hideous
sight
.
He
became
aware
of
someone
standing
on
the
right
side
of
him
;
he
looked
and
saw
a
tall
woman
with
a
kerchief
on
her
head
,
with
a
long
,
yellow
,
wasted
face
and
red
sunken
eyes
.
She
was
looking
straight
at
him
,
but
obviously
she
saw
nothing
and
recognised
no
one
.
Suddenly
she
leaned
her
right
hand
on
the
parapet
,
lifted
her
right
leg
over
the
railing
,
then
her
left
and
threw
herself
into
the
canal
.
The
filthy
water
parted
and
swallowed
up
its
victim
for
a
moment
,
but
an
instant
later
the
drowning
woman
floated
to
the
surface
,
moving
slowly
with
the
current
,
her
head
and
legs
in
the
water
,
her
skirt
inflated
like
a
balloon
over
her
back
.
“
A
woman
drowning
!
A
woman
drowning
!
”
shouted
dozens
of
voices
;
people
ran
up
,
both
banks
were
thronged
with
spectators
,
on
the
bridge
people
crowded
about
Raskolnikov
,
pressing
up
behind
him
.
