community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

line stringlengths 2 76
He looked stubbornly out of the window. Dounia went up to the table to
take the key.

“Make haste! Make haste!” repeated Svidrigaïlov, still without turning
or moving. But there seemed a terrible significance in the tone of that
“make haste.”

Dounia understood it, snatched up the key, flew to the door, unlocked it
quickly and rushed out of the room. A minute later, beside herself, she
ran out on to the canal bank in the direction of X. Bridge.

Svidrigaïlov remained three minutes standing at the window. At last he
slowly turned, looked about him and passed his hand over his forehead. A
strange smile contorted his face, a pitiful, sad, weak smile, a smile of
despair. The blood, which was already getting dry, smeared his hand.
He looked angrily at it, then wetted a towel and washed his temple.
The revolver which Dounia had flung away lay near the door and suddenly
caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. It was a little pocket
three-barrel revolver of old-fashioned construction. There were still
two charges and one capsule left in it. It could be fired again. He
thought a little, put the revolver in his pocket, took his hat and went
out.



CHAPTER VI

He spent that evening till ten o’clock going from one low haunt to
another. Katia too turned up and sang another gutter song, how a certain

“villain and tyrant,”

“began kissing Katia.”

Svidrigaïlov treated Katia and the organ-grinder and some singers and
the waiters and two little clerks. He was particularly drawn to these
clerks by the fact that they both had crooked noses, one bent to the
left and the other to the right. They took him finally to a pleasure
garden, where he paid for their entrance. There was one lanky
three-year-old pine-tree and three bushes in the garden, besides a
“Vauxhall,” which was in reality a drinking-bar where tea too was
served, and there were a few green tables and chairs standing round it.
A chorus of wretched singers and a drunken but exceedingly depressed
German clown from Munich with a red nose entertained the public. The
clerks quarrelled with some other clerks and a fight seemed imminent.
Svidrigaïlov was chosen to decide the dispute. He listened to them for
a quarter of an hour, but they shouted so loud that there was no
possibility of understanding them. The only fact that seemed certain was
that one of them had stolen something and had even succeeded in
selling it on the spot to a Jew, but would not share the spoil with his
companion. Finally it appeared that the stolen object was a teaspoon
belonging to the Vauxhall. It was missed and the affair began to seem
troublesome. Svidrigaïlov paid for the spoon, got up, and walked out of
the garden. It was about six o’clock. He had not drunk a drop of wine
all this time and had ordered tea more for the sake of appearances than
anything.

It was a dark and stifling evening. Threatening storm-clouds came over
the sky about ten o’clock. There was a clap of thunder, and the rain
came down like a waterfall. The water fell not in drops, but beat on the
earth in streams. There were flashes of lightning every minute and each
flash lasted while one could count five.

Drenched to the skin, he went home, locked himself in, opened the
bureau, took out all his money and tore up two or three papers. Then,
putting the money in his pocket, he was about to change his clothes,
but, looking out of the window and listening to the thunder and the
rain, he gave up the idea, took up his hat and went out of the room
without locking the door. He went straight to Sonia. She was at home.

She was not alone: the four Kapernaumov children were with her. She
was giving them tea. She received Svidrigaïlov in respectful silence,
looking wonderingly at his soaking clothes. The children all ran away at
once in indescribable terror.

Svidrigaïlov sat down at the table and asked Sonia to sit beside him.
She timidly prepared to listen.

“I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonovna,” said Svidrigaïlov, “and
as I am probably seeing you for the last time, I have come to make some
arrangements. Well, did you see the lady to-day? I know what she said to
you, you need not tell me.” (Sonia made a movement and blushed.) “Those
people have their own way of doing things. As to your sisters and your
brother, they are really provided for and the money assigned to them
I’ve put into safe keeping and have received acknowledgments. You had
better take charge of the receipts, in case anything happens. Here, take
them! Well now, that’s settled. Here are three 5-per-cent bonds to the
value of three thousand roubles. Take those for yourself, entirely for
yourself, and let that be strictly between ourselves, so that no one
knows of it, whatever you hear. You will need the money, for to go on
living in the old way, Sofya Semyonovna, is bad, and besides there is no
need for it now.”

“I am so much indebted to you, and so are the children and my
stepmother,” said Sonia hurriedly, “and if I’ve said so little... please
don’t consider...”

“That’s enough! that’s enough!”

“But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I am very grateful to you,

He looked stubbornly out of the window. Dounia went up to the table to

take the key.

“Make haste! Make haste!” repeated Svidrigaïlov, still without turning

or moving. But there seemed a terrible significance in the tone of that

“make haste.”

Dounia understood it, snatched up the key, flew to the door, unlocked it

quickly and rushed out of the room. A minute later, beside herself, she

ran out on to the canal bank in the direction of X. Bridge.

Svidrigaïlov remained three minutes standing at the window. At last he

slowly turned, looked about him and passed his hand over his forehead. A

strange smile contorted his face, a pitiful, sad, weak smile, a smile of

despair. The blood, which was already getting dry, smeared his hand.

He looked angrily at it, then wetted a towel and washed his temple.

The revolver which Dounia had flung away lay near the door and suddenly

caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. It was a little pocket

three-barrel revolver of old-fashioned construction. There were still

two charges and one capsule left in it. It could be fired again. He

thought a little, put the revolver in his pocket, took his hat and went

out.

CHAPTER VI

He spent that evening till ten o’clock going from one low haunt to

another. Katia too turned up and sang another gutter song, how a certain

“villain and tyrant,”

“began kissing Katia.”

Svidrigaïlov treated Katia and the organ-grinder and some singers and

the waiters and two little clerks. He was particularly drawn to these

clerks by the fact that they both had crooked noses, one bent to the

left and the other to the right. They took him finally to a pleasure

garden, where he paid for their entrance. There was one lanky

three-year-old pine-tree and three bushes in the garden, besides a

“Vauxhall,” which was in reality a drinking-bar where tea too was

served, and there were a few green tables and chairs standing round it.

A chorus of wretched singers and a drunken but exceedingly depressed

German clown from Munich with a red nose entertained the public. The

clerks quarrelled with some other clerks and a fight seemed imminent.

Svidrigaïlov was chosen to decide the dispute. He listened to them for

a quarter of an hour, but they shouted so loud that there was no

possibility of understanding them. The only fact that seemed certain was

that one of them had stolen something and had even succeeded in

selling it on the spot to a Jew, but would not share the spoil with his

companion. Finally it appeared that the stolen object was a teaspoon

belonging to the Vauxhall. It was missed and the affair began to seem

troublesome. Svidrigaïlov paid for the spoon, got up, and walked out of

the garden. It was about six o’clock. He had not drunk a drop of wine

all this time and had ordered tea more for the sake of appearances than

anything.

It was a dark and stifling evening. Threatening storm-clouds came over

the sky about ten o’clock. There was a clap of thunder, and the rain

came down like a waterfall. The water fell not in drops, but beat on the

earth in streams. There were flashes of lightning every minute and each

flash lasted while one could count five.

Drenched to the skin, he went home, locked himself in, opened the

bureau, took out all his money and tore up two or three papers. Then,

putting the money in his pocket, he was about to change his clothes,

but, looking out of the window and listening to the thunder and the

rain, he gave up the idea, took up his hat and went out of the room

without locking the door. He went straight to Sonia. She was at home.

She was not alone: the four Kapernaumov children were with her. She

was giving them tea. She received Svidrigaïlov in respectful silence,

looking wonderingly at his soaking clothes. The children all ran away at

once in indescribable terror.

Svidrigaïlov sat down at the table and asked Sonia to sit beside him.

She timidly prepared to listen.

“I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonovna,” said Svidrigaïlov, “and

as I am probably seeing you for the last time, I have come to make some

arrangements. Well, did you see the lady to-day? I know what she said to

you, you need not tell me.” (Sonia made a movement and blushed.) “Those

people have their own way of doing things. As to your sisters and your

brother, they are really provided for and the money assigned to them

I’ve put into safe keeping and have received acknowledgments. You had

better take charge of the receipts, in case anything happens. Here, take

them! Well now, that’s settled. Here are three 5-per-cent bonds to the

value of three thousand roubles. Take those for yourself, entirely for

yourself, and let that be strictly between ourselves, so that no one

knows of it, whatever you hear. You will need the money, for to go on

living in the old way, Sofya Semyonovna, is bad, and besides there is no

need for it now.”

“I am so much indebted to you, and so are the children and my

stepmother,” said Sonia hurriedly, “and if I’ve said so little... please

don’t consider...”

“That’s enough! that’s enough!”

“But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I am very grateful to you,