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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 230/453
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“
You
,
too
,
want
to
torture
me
!
”
he
screamed
,
with
such
bitter
irritation
,
such
despair
in
his
eyes
that
Razumihin
’
s
hands
dropped
.
He
stood
for
some
time
on
the
steps
,
looking
gloomily
at
Raskolnikov
striding
rapidly
away
in
the
direction
of
his
lodging
.
At
last
,
gritting
his
teeth
and
clenching
his
fist
,
he
swore
he
would
squeeze
Porfiry
like
a
lemon
that
very
day
,
and
went
up
the
stairs
to
reassure
Pulcheria
Alexandrovna
,
who
was
by
now
alarmed
at
their
long
absence
.
When
Raskolnikov
got
home
,
his
hair
was
soaked
with
sweat
and
he
was
breathing
heavily
.
He
went
rapidly
up
the
stairs
,
walked
into
his
unlocked
room
and
at
once
fastened
the
latch
.
Then
in
senseless
terror
he
rushed
to
the
corner
,
to
that
hole
under
the
paper
where
he
had
put
the
things
;
put
his
hand
in
,
and
for
some
minutes
felt
carefully
in
the
hole
,
in
every
crack
and
fold
of
the
paper
.
Finding
nothing
,
he
got
up
and
drew
a
deep
breath
.
As
he
was
reaching
the
steps
of
Bakaleyev
’
s
,
he
suddenly
fancied
that
something
,
a
chain
,
a
stud
or
even
a
bit
of
paper
in
which
they
had
been
wrapped
with
the
old
woman
’
s
handwriting
on
it
,
might
somehow
have
slipped
out
and
been
lost
in
some
crack
,
and
then
might
suddenly
turn
up
as
unexpected
,
conclusive
evidence
against
him
.
He
stood
as
though
lost
in
thought
,
and
a
strange
,
humiliated
,
half
senseless
smile
strayed
on
his
lips
.
He
took
his
cap
at
last
and
went
quietly
out
of
the
room
.
His
ideas
were
all
tangled
.
He
went
dreamily
through
the
gateway
.
“
Here
he
is
himself
,
”
shouted
a
loud
voice
.
He
raised
his
head
.
The
porter
was
standing
at
the
door
of
his
little
room
and
was
pointing
him
out
to
a
short
man
who
looked
like
an
artisan
,
wearing
a
long
coat
and
a
waistcoat
,
and
looking
at
a
distance
remarkably
like
a
woman
.
He
stooped
,
and
his
head
in
a
greasy
cap
hung
forward
.
From
his
wrinkled
flabby
face
he
looked
over
fifty
;
his
little
eyes
were
lost
in
fat
and
they
looked
out
grimly
,
sternly
and
discontentedly
.
“
What
is
it
?
”
Raskolnikov
asked
,
going
up
to
the
porter
.
The
man
stole
a
look
at
him
from
under
his
brows
and
he
looked
at
him
attentively
,
deliberately
;
then
he
turned
slowly
and
went
out
of
the
gate
into
the
street
without
saying
a
word
.
“
What
is
it
?
”
cried
Raskolnikov
.
