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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 143/453
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“
Just
here
,
three
houses
away
,
”
he
said
eagerly
,
“
the
house
belongs
to
Kozel
,
a
rich
German
.
He
was
going
home
,
no
doubt
drunk
.
I
know
him
,
he
is
a
drunkard
.
He
has
a
family
there
,
a
wife
,
children
,
he
has
one
daughter
.
.
.
.
It
will
take
time
to
take
him
to
the
hospital
,
and
there
is
sure
to
be
a
doctor
in
the
house
.
I
’
ll
pay
,
I
’
ll
pay
!
At
least
he
will
be
looked
after
at
home
.
.
.
they
will
help
him
at
once
.
But
he
’
ll
die
before
you
get
him
to
the
hospital
.
”
He
managed
to
slip
something
unseen
into
the
policeman
’
s
hand
.
But
the
thing
was
straightforward
and
legitimate
,
and
in
any
case
help
was
closer
here
.
They
raised
the
injured
man
;
people
volunteered
to
help
.
Kozel
’
s
house
was
thirty
yards
away
.
Raskolnikov
walked
behind
,
carefully
holding
Marmeladov
’
s
head
and
showing
the
way
.
“
This
way
,
this
way
!
We
must
take
him
upstairs
head
foremost
.
Turn
round
!
I
’
ll
pay
,
I
’
ll
make
it
worth
your
while
,
”
he
muttered
.
Katerina
Ivanovna
had
just
begun
,
as
she
always
did
at
every
free
moment
,
walking
to
and
fro
in
her
little
room
from
window
to
stove
and
back
again
,
with
her
arms
folded
across
her
chest
,
talking
to
herself
and
coughing
.
Of
late
she
had
begun
to
talk
more
than
ever
to
her
eldest
girl
,
Polenka
,
a
child
of
ten
,
who
,
though
there
was
much
she
did
not
understand
,
understood
very
well
that
her
mother
needed
her
,
and
so
always
watched
her
with
her
big
clever
eyes
and
strove
her
utmost
to
appear
to
understand
.
This
time
Polenka
was
undressing
her
little
brother
,
who
had
been
unwell
all
day
and
was
going
to
bed
.
The
boy
was
waiting
for
her
to
take
off
his
shirt
,
which
had
to
be
washed
at
night
.
He
was
sitting
straight
and
motionless
on
a
chair
,
with
a
silent
,
serious
face
,
with
his
legs
stretched
out
straight
before
him
—
heels
together
and
toes
turned
out
.
He
was
listening
to
what
his
mother
was
saying
to
his
sister
,
sitting
perfectly
still
with
pouting
lips
and
wide
-
open
eyes
,
just
as
all
good
little
boys
have
to
sit
when
they
are
undressed
to
go
to
bed
.
A
little
girl
,
still
younger
,
dressed
literally
in
rags
,
stood
at
the
screen
,
waiting
for
her
turn
.
The
door
on
to
the
stairs
was
open
to
relieve
them
a
little
from
the
clouds
of
tobacco
smoke
which
floated
in
from
the
other
rooms
and
brought
on
long
terrible
fits
of
coughing
in
the
poor
,
consumptive
woman
.
Katerina
Ivanovna
seemed
to
have
grown
even
thinner
during
that
week
and
the
hectic
flush
on
her
face
was
brighter
than
ever
.
“
You
wouldn
’
t
believe
,
you
can
’
t
imagine
,
Polenka
,
”
she
said
,
walking
about
the
room
,
“
what
a
happy
luxurious
life
we
had
in
my
papa
’
s
house
and
how
this
drunkard
has
brought
me
,
and
will
bring
you
all
,
to
ruin
!
Papa
was
a
civil
colonel
and
only
a
step
from
being
a
governor
;
so
that
everyone
who
came
to
see
him
said
,
‘
We
look
upon
you
,
Ivan
Mihailovitch
,
as
our
governor
!
’
When
I
.
.
.
when
.
.
.
”
she
coughed
violently
,
“
oh
,
cursed
life
,
”
she
cried
,
clearing
her
throat
and
pressing
her
hands
to
her
breast
,
“
when
I
.
.
.
when
at
the
last
ball
.
.
.
at
the
marshal
’
s
.
.
.
Princess
Bezzemelny
saw
me
—
who
gave
me
the
blessing
when
your
father
and
I
were
married
,
Polenka
—
she
asked
at
once
‘
Isn
’
t
that
the
pretty
girl
who
danced
the
shawl
dance
at
the
breaking
-
up
?
’
(
You
must
mend
that
tear
,
you
must
take
your
needle
and
darn
it
as
I
showed
you
,
or
to
-
morrow
—
cough
,
cough
,
cough
—
he
will
make
the
hole
bigger
,
”
she
articulated
with
effort
.
)
“
Prince
Schegolskoy
,
a
kammerjunker
,
had
just
come
from
Petersburg
then
.
.
.
he
danced
the
mazurka
with
me
and
wanted
to
make
me
an
offer
next
day
;
but
I
thanked
him
in
flattering
expressions
and
told
him
that
my
heart
had
long
been
another
’
s
.
That
other
was
your
father
,
Polya
;
papa
was
fearfully
angry
.
.
.
.
Is
the
water
ready
?
Give
me
the
shirt
,
and
the
stockings
!
Lida
,
”
said
she
to
the
youngest
one
,
“
you
must
manage
without
your
chemise
to
-
night
.
.
.
and
lay
your
stockings
out
with
it
.
.
.
I
’
ll
wash
them
together
.
.
.
.
How
is
it
that
drunken
vagabond
doesn
’
t
come
in
?
He
has
worn
his
shirt
till
it
looks
like
a
dish
-
clout
,
he
has
torn
it
to
rags
!
I
’
d
do
it
all
together
,
so
as
not
to
have
to
work
two
nights
running
!
Oh
,
dear
!
(
Cough
,
cough
,
cough
,
cough
!
)
Again
!
What
’
s
this
?
”
she
cried
,
noticing
a
crowd
in
the
passage
and
the
men
,
who
were
pushing
into
her
room
,
carrying
a
burden
.
“
What
is
it
?
What
are
they
bringing
?
Mercy
on
us
!
”
“
Where
are
we
to
put
him
?
”
asked
the
policeman
,
looking
round
when
Marmeladov
,
unconscious
and
covered
with
blood
,
had
been
carried
in
.
“
On
the
sofa
!
Put
him
straight
on
the
sofa
,
with
his
head
this
way
,
”
Raskolnikov
showed
him
.
