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- Федор Достоевский
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- Стр. 31/453
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“
Get
in
,
all
get
in
,
”
cried
Mikolka
,
“
she
will
draw
you
all
.
I
’
ll
beat
her
to
death
!
”
And
he
thrashed
and
thrashed
at
the
mare
,
beside
himself
with
fury
.
“
Father
,
father
,
”
he
cried
,
“
father
,
what
are
they
doing
?
Father
,
they
are
beating
the
poor
horse
!
”
“
Come
along
,
come
along
!
”
said
his
father
.
“
They
are
drunken
and
foolish
,
they
are
in
fun
;
come
away
,
don
’
t
look
!
”
and
he
tried
to
draw
him
away
,
but
he
tore
himself
away
from
his
hand
,
and
,
beside
himself
with
horror
,
ran
to
the
horse
.
The
poor
beast
was
in
a
bad
way
.
She
was
gasping
,
standing
still
,
then
tugging
again
and
almost
falling
.
“
Beat
her
to
death
,
”
cried
Mikolka
,
“
it
’
s
come
to
that
.
I
’
ll
do
for
her
!
”
“
What
are
you
about
,
are
you
a
Christian
,
you
devil
?
”
shouted
an
old
man
in
the
crowd
.
“
Did
anyone
ever
see
the
like
?
A
wretched
nag
like
that
pulling
such
a
cartload
,
”
said
another
.
“
You
’
ll
kill
her
,
”
shouted
the
third
.
“
Don
’
t
meddle
!
It
’
s
my
property
,
I
’
ll
do
what
I
choose
.
Get
in
,
more
of
you
!
Get
in
,
all
of
you
!
I
will
have
her
go
at
a
gallop
!
.
.
.
”
All
at
once
laughter
broke
into
a
roar
and
covered
everything
:
the
mare
,
roused
by
the
shower
of
blows
,
began
feebly
kicking
.
Even
the
old
man
could
not
help
smiling
.
To
think
of
a
wretched
little
beast
like
that
trying
to
kick
!
