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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 179/453
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“
I
sometimes
speak
too
much
from
the
heart
,
so
that
Dounia
finds
fault
with
me
.
.
.
.
But
,
dear
me
,
what
a
cupboard
he
lives
in
!
I
wonder
whether
he
is
awake
?
Does
this
woman
,
his
landlady
,
consider
it
a
room
?
Listen
,
you
say
he
does
not
like
to
show
his
feelings
,
so
perhaps
I
shall
annoy
him
with
my
.
.
.
weaknesses
?
Do
advise
me
,
Dmitri
Prokofitch
,
how
am
I
to
treat
him
?
I
feel
quite
distracted
,
you
know
.
”
“
Don
’
t
question
him
too
much
about
anything
if
you
see
him
frown
;
don
’
t
ask
him
too
much
about
his
health
;
he
doesn
’
t
like
that
.
”
“
Ah
,
Dmitri
Prokofitch
,
how
hard
it
is
to
be
a
mother
!
But
here
are
the
stairs
.
.
.
.
What
an
awful
staircase
!
”
“
Mother
,
you
are
quite
pale
,
don
’
t
distress
yourself
,
darling
,
”
said
Dounia
caressing
her
,
then
with
flashing
eyes
she
added
:
“
He
ought
to
be
happy
at
seeing
you
,
and
you
are
tormenting
yourself
so
.
”
“
Wait
,
I
’
ll
peep
in
and
see
whether
he
has
waked
up
.
”
The
ladies
slowly
followed
Razumihin
,
who
went
on
before
,
and
when
they
reached
the
landlady
’
s
door
on
the
fourth
storey
,
they
noticed
that
her
door
was
a
tiny
crack
open
and
that
two
keen
black
eyes
were
watching
them
from
the
darkness
within
.
When
their
eyes
met
,
the
door
was
suddenly
shut
with
such
a
slam
that
Pulcheria
Alexandrovna
almost
cried
out
.
“
He
is
well
,
quite
well
!
”
Zossimov
cried
cheerfully
as
they
entered
.
He
had
come
in
ten
minutes
earlier
and
was
sitting
in
the
same
place
as
before
,
on
the
sofa
.
Raskolnikov
was
sitting
in
the
opposite
corner
,
fully
dressed
and
carefully
washed
and
combed
,
as
he
had
not
been
for
some
time
past
.
The
room
was
immediately
crowded
,
yet
Nastasya
managed
to
follow
the
visitors
in
and
stayed
to
listen
.
Raskolnikov
really
was
almost
well
,
as
compared
with
his
condition
the
day
before
,
but
he
was
still
pale
,
listless
,
and
sombre
.
He
looked
like
a
wounded
man
or
one
who
has
undergone
some
terrible
physical
suffering
.
His
brows
were
knitted
,
his
lips
compressed
,
his
eyes
feverish
.
He
spoke
little
and
reluctantly
,
as
though
performing
a
duty
,
and
there
was
a
restlessness
in
his
movements
.
He
only
wanted
a
sling
on
his
arm
or
a
bandage
on
his
finger
to
complete
the
impression
of
a
man
with
a
painful
abscess
or
a
broken
arm
.
The
pale
,
sombre
face
lighted
up
for
a
moment
when
his
mother
and
sister
entered
,
but
this
only
gave
it
a
look
of
more
intense
suffering
,
in
place
of
its
listless
dejection
.
The
light
soon
died
away
,
but
the
look
of
suffering
remained
,
and
Zossimov
,
watching
and
studying
his
patient
with
all
the
zest
of
a
young
doctor
beginning
to
practise
,
noticed
in
him
no
joy
at
the
arrival
of
his
mother
and
sister
,
but
a
sort
of
bitter
,
hidden
determination
to
bear
another
hour
or
two
of
inevitable
torture
.
He
saw
later
that
almost
every
word
of
the
following
conversation
seemed
to
touch
on
some
sore
place
and
irritate
it
.
