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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 141/453
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“
Why
waste
time
talking
to
him
?
”
cried
the
other
porter
,
a
huge
peasant
in
a
full
open
coat
and
with
keys
on
his
belt
.
“
Get
along
!
He
is
a
rogue
and
no
mistake
.
Get
along
!
”
And
seizing
Raskolnikov
by
the
shoulder
he
flung
him
into
the
street
.
He
lurched
forward
,
but
recovered
his
footing
,
looked
at
the
spectators
in
silence
and
walked
away
.
“
Strange
man
!
”
observed
the
workman
.
“
There
are
strange
folks
about
nowadays
,
”
said
the
woman
.
“
You
should
have
taken
him
to
the
police
station
all
the
same
,
”
said
the
man
in
the
long
coat
.
“
Better
have
nothing
to
do
with
him
,
”
decided
the
big
porter
.
“
A
regular
rogue
!
Just
what
he
wants
,
you
may
be
sure
,
but
once
take
him
up
,
you
won
’
t
get
rid
of
him
.
.
.
.
We
know
the
sort
!
”
“
Shall
I
go
there
or
not
?
”
thought
Raskolnikov
,
standing
in
the
middle
of
the
thoroughfare
at
the
cross
-
roads
,
and
he
looked
about
him
,
as
though
expecting
from
someone
a
decisive
word
.
But
no
sound
came
,
all
was
dead
and
silent
like
the
stones
on
which
he
walked
,
dead
to
him
,
to
him
alone
.
.
.
.
All
at
once
at
the
end
of
the
street
,
two
hundred
yards
away
,
in
the
gathering
dusk
he
saw
a
crowd
and
heard
talk
and
shouts
.
In
the
middle
of
the
crowd
stood
a
carriage
.
.
.
.
A
light
gleamed
in
the
middle
of
the
street
.
“
What
is
it
?
”
Raskolnikov
turned
to
the
right
and
went
up
to
the
crowd
He
seemed
to
clutch
at
everything
and
smiled
coldly
when
he
recognised
it
,
for
he
had
fully
made
up
his
mind
to
go
to
the
police
station
and
knew
that
it
would
all
soon
be
over
.
An
elegant
carriage
stood
in
the
middle
of
the
road
with
a
pair
of
spirited
grey
horses
;
there
was
no
one
in
it
,
and
the
coachman
had
got
off
his
box
and
stood
by
;
the
horses
were
being
held
by
the
bridle
.
.
.
.
A
mass
of
people
had
gathered
round
,
the
police
standing
in
front
.
One
of
them
held
a
lighted
lantern
which
he
was
turning
on
something
lying
close
to
the
wheels
.
Everyone
was
talking
,
shouting
,
exclaiming
;
the
coachman
seemed
at
a
loss
and
kept
repeating
:
“
What
a
misfortune
!
Good
Lord
,
what
a
misfortune
!
”
