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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 438/453
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He
crossed
himself
several
times
.
Sonia
took
up
her
shawl
and
put
it
over
her
head
.
It
was
the
green
drap
de
dames
shawl
of
which
Marmeladov
had
spoken
,
“
the
family
shawl
.
”
Raskolnikov
thought
of
that
looking
at
it
,
but
he
did
not
ask
.
He
began
to
feel
himself
that
he
was
certainly
forgetting
things
and
was
disgustingly
agitated
.
He
was
frightened
at
this
.
He
was
suddenly
struck
too
by
the
thought
that
Sonia
meant
to
go
with
him
.
“
What
are
you
doing
?
Where
are
you
going
?
Stay
here
,
stay
!
I
’
ll
go
alone
,
”
he
cried
in
cowardly
vexation
,
and
almost
resentful
,
he
moved
towards
the
door
.
“
What
’
s
the
use
of
going
in
procession
?
”
he
muttered
going
out
.
Sonia
remained
standing
in
the
middle
of
the
room
.
He
had
not
even
said
good
-
bye
to
her
;
he
had
forgotten
her
.
A
poignant
and
rebellious
doubt
surged
in
his
heart
.
“
Was
it
right
,
was
it
right
,
all
this
?
”
he
thought
again
as
he
went
down
the
stairs
.
“
Couldn
’
t
he
stop
and
retract
it
all
.
.
.
and
not
go
?
”
But
still
he
went
.
He
felt
suddenly
once
for
all
that
he
mustn
’
t
ask
himself
questions
.
As
he
turned
into
the
street
he
remembered
that
he
had
not
said
good
-
bye
to
Sonia
,
that
he
had
left
her
in
the
middle
of
the
room
in
her
green
shawl
,
not
daring
to
stir
after
he
had
shouted
at
her
,
and
he
stopped
short
for
a
moment
.
At
the
same
instant
,
another
thought
dawned
upon
him
,
as
though
it
had
been
lying
in
wait
to
strike
him
then
.
“
Why
,
with
what
object
did
I
go
to
her
just
now
?
I
told
her
—
on
business
;
on
what
business
?
I
had
no
sort
of
business
!
To
tell
her
I
was
going
;
but
where
was
the
need
?
Do
I
love
her
?
No
,
no
,
I
drove
her
away
just
now
like
a
dog
.
Did
I
want
her
crosses
?
Oh
,
how
low
I
’
ve
sunk
!
No
,
I
wanted
her
tears
,
I
wanted
to
see
her
terror
,
to
see
how
her
heart
ached
!
I
had
to
have
something
to
cling
to
,
something
to
delay
me
,
some
friendly
face
to
see
!
And
I
dared
to
believe
in
myself
,
to
dream
of
what
I
would
do
!
I
am
a
beggarly
contemptible
wretch
,
contemptible
!
”
He
walked
along
the
canal
bank
,
and
he
had
not
much
further
to
go
.
But
on
reaching
the
bridge
he
stopped
and
turning
out
of
his
way
along
it
went
to
the
Hay
Market
.
He
looked
eagerly
to
right
and
left
,
gazed
intently
at
every
object
and
could
not
fix
his
attention
on
anything
;
everything
slipped
away
.
“
In
another
week
,
another
month
I
shall
be
driven
in
a
prison
van
over
this
bridge
,
how
shall
I
look
at
the
canal
then
?
I
should
like
to
remember
this
!
”
slipped
into
his
mind
.
“
Look
at
this
sign
!
How
shall
I
read
those
letters
then
?
It
’
s
written
here
‘
Campany
,
’
that
’
s
a
thing
to
remember
,
that
letter
a
,
and
to
look
at
it
again
in
a
month
—
how
shall
I
look
at
it
then
?
What
shall
I
be
feeling
and
thinking
then
?
.
.
.
How
trivial
it
all
must
be
,
what
I
am
fretting
about
now
!
Of
course
it
must
all
be
interesting
.
.
.
in
its
way
.
.
.
(
Ha
-
ha
-
ha
!
What
am
I
thinking
about
?
)
I
am
becoming
a
baby
,
I
am
showing
off
to
myself
;
why
am
I
ashamed
?
Foo
!
how
people
shove
!
that
fat
man
—
a
German
he
must
be
—
who
pushed
against
me
,
does
he
know
whom
he
pushed
?
There
’
s
a
peasant
woman
with
a
baby
,
begging
.
It
’
s
curious
that
she
thinks
me
happier
than
she
is
.
I
might
give
her
something
,
for
the
incongruity
of
it
.
Here
’
s
a
five
copeck
piece
left
in
my
pocket
,
where
did
I
get
it
?
Here
,
here
.
.
.
take
it
,
my
good
woman
!
”
