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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 269/453
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“
It
’
s
you
!
Good
heavens
!
”
cried
Sonia
weakly
,
and
she
stood
rooted
to
the
spot
.
“
Which
is
your
room
?
This
way
?
”
and
Raskolnikov
,
trying
not
to
look
at
her
,
hastened
in
.
A
minute
later
Sonia
,
too
,
came
in
with
the
candle
,
set
down
the
candlestick
and
,
completely
disconcerted
,
stood
before
him
inexpressibly
agitated
and
apparently
frightened
by
his
unexpected
visit
.
The
colour
rushed
suddenly
to
her
pale
face
and
tears
came
into
her
eyes
.
.
.
She
felt
sick
and
ashamed
and
happy
,
too
.
.
.
.
Raskolnikov
turned
away
quickly
and
sat
on
a
chair
by
the
table
.
He
scanned
the
room
in
a
rapid
glance
.
It
was
a
large
but
exceedingly
low
-
pitched
room
,
the
only
one
let
by
the
Kapernaumovs
,
to
whose
rooms
a
closed
door
led
in
the
wall
on
the
left
.
In
the
opposite
side
on
the
right
hand
wall
was
another
door
,
always
kept
locked
.
That
led
to
the
next
flat
,
which
formed
a
separate
lodging
.
Sonia
’
s
room
looked
like
a
barn
;
it
was
a
very
irregular
quadrangle
and
this
gave
it
a
grotesque
appearance
.
A
wall
with
three
windows
looking
out
on
to
the
canal
ran
aslant
so
that
one
corner
formed
a
very
acute
angle
,
and
it
was
difficult
to
see
in
it
without
very
strong
light
.
The
other
corner
was
disproportionately
obtuse
.
There
was
scarcely
any
furniture
in
the
big
room
:
in
the
corner
on
the
right
was
a
bedstead
,
beside
it
,
nearest
the
door
,
a
chair
.
A
plain
,
deal
table
covered
by
a
blue
cloth
stood
against
the
same
wall
,
close
to
the
door
into
the
other
flat
.
Two
rush
-
bottom
chairs
stood
by
the
table
.
On
the
opposite
wall
near
the
acute
angle
stood
a
small
plain
wooden
chest
of
drawers
looking
,
as
it
were
,
lost
in
a
desert
.
That
was
all
there
was
in
the
room
.
The
yellow
,
scratched
and
shabby
wall
-
paper
was
black
in
the
corners
.
It
must
have
been
damp
and
full
of
fumes
in
the
winter
.
There
was
every
sign
of
poverty
;
even
the
bedstead
had
no
curtain
.
Sonia
looked
in
silence
at
her
visitor
,
who
was
so
attentively
and
unceremoniously
scrutinising
her
room
,
and
even
began
at
last
to
tremble
with
terror
,
as
though
she
was
standing
before
her
judge
and
the
arbiter
of
her
destinies
.
“
I
am
late
.
.
.
.
It
’
s
eleven
,
isn
’
t
it
?
”
he
asked
,
still
not
lifting
his
eyes
.
“
Yes
,
”
muttered
Sonia
,
“
oh
yes
,
it
is
,
”
she
added
,
hastily
,
as
though
in
that
lay
her
means
of
escape
.
“
My
landlady
’
s
clock
has
just
struck
.
.
.
I
heard
it
myself
.
.
.
.
”
“
I
’
ve
come
to
you
for
the
last
time
,
”
Raskolnikov
went
on
gloomily
,
although
this
was
the
first
time
.
“
I
may
perhaps
not
see
you
again
.
.
.
”
