community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

line stringlengths 2 76

“Why are you lying like a log?” she shouted, looking at him with
repulsion.

He got up, and sat down again, but said nothing and stared at the floor.

“Are you ill or not?” asked Nastasya and again received no answer.
“You’d better go out and get a breath of air,” she said after a pause.
“Will you eat it or not?”

“Afterwards,” he said weakly. “You can go.”

And he motioned her out.

She remained a little longer, looked at him with compassion and went
out.

A few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyes and looked for a long while
at the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoon and
began to eat.

He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it were
mechanically. His head ached less. After his meal he stretched himself
on the sofa again, but now he could not sleep; he lay without stirring,
with his face in the pillow. He was haunted by day-dreams and such
strange day-dreams; in one, that kept recurring, he fancied that he was
in Africa, in Egypt, in some sort of oasis. The caravan was resting,
the camels were peacefully lying down; the palms stood all around in a
complete circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was drinking water
from a spring which flowed gurgling close by. And it was so cool, it was
wonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water running among the parti-coloured
stones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there like
gold.... Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He started, roused himself,
raised his head, looked out of the window, and seeing how late it was,
suddenly jumped up wide awake as though someone had pulled him off the
sofa. He crept on tiptoe to the door, stealthily opened it and began
listening on the staircase. His heart beat terribly. But all was quiet
on the stairs as if everyone was asleep.... It seemed to him strange and
monstrous that he could have slept in such forgetfulness from the
previous day and had done nothing, had prepared nothing yet.... And
meanwhile perhaps it had struck six. And his drowsiness and stupefaction
were followed by an extraordinary, feverish, as it were distracted
haste. But the preparations to be made were few. He concentrated all his
energies on thinking of everything and forgetting nothing; and his heart
kept beating and thumping so that he could hardly breathe. First he had
to make a noose and sew it into his overcoat--a work of a moment. He
rummaged under his pillow and picked out amongst the linen stuffed away
under it, a worn out, old unwashed shirt. From its rags he tore a long
strip, a couple of inches wide and about sixteen inches long. He folded
this strip in two, took off his wide, strong summer overcoat of some
stout cotton material (his only outer garment) and began sewing the two
ends of the rag on the inside, under the left armhole. His hands shook
as he sewed, but he did it successfully so that nothing showed outside
when he put the coat on again. The needle and thread he had got ready
long before and they lay on his table in a piece of paper. As for the
noose, it was a very ingenious device of his own; the noose was intended
for the axe. It was impossible for him to carry the axe through the
street in his hands. And if hidden under his coat he would still have
had to support it with his hand, which would have been noticeable. Now
he had only to put the head of the axe in the noose, and it would hang
quietly under his arm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coat
pocket, he could hold the end of the handle all the way, so that it did
not swing; and as the coat was very full, a regular sack in fact, it
could not be seen from outside that he was holding something with the
hand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had designed a
fortnight before.

When he had finished with this, he thrust his hand into a little opening
between his sofa and the floor, fumbled in the left corner and drew out
the _pledge_, which he had got ready long before and hidden there. This
pledge was, however, only a smoothly planed piece of wood the size and
thickness of a silver cigarette case. He picked up this piece of wood
in one of his wanderings in a courtyard where there was some sort of
a workshop. Afterwards he had added to the wood a thin smooth piece
of iron, which he had also picked up at the same time in the street.
Putting the iron which was a little the smaller on the piece of wood,
he fastened them very firmly, crossing and re-crossing the thread round
them; then wrapped them carefully and daintily in clean white paper and
tied up the parcel so that it would be very difficult to untie it. This
was in order to divert the attention of the old woman for a time, while
she was trying to undo the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron strip
was added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the first
minute that the “thing” was made of wood. All this had been stored by
him beforehand under the sofa. He had only just got the pledge out when
he heard someone suddenly about in the yard.

“It struck six long ago.”

“Long ago! My God!”

He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to descend
his thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had still the
most important thing to do--to steal the axe from the kitchen. That the
deed must be done with an axe he had decided long ago. He had also a
pocket pruning-knife, but he could not rely on the knife and still less
on his own strength, and so resolved finally on the axe. We may note in
passing, one peculiarity in regard to all the final resolutions taken by
him in the matter; they had one strange characteristic: the more final
they were, the more hideous and the more absurd they at once became in
his eyes. In spite of all his agonising inward struggle, he never for

“Why are you lying like a log?” she shouted, looking at him with

repulsion.

He got up, and sat down again, but said nothing and stared at the floor.

“Are you ill or not?” asked Nastasya and again received no answer.

“You’d better go out and get a breath of air,” she said after a pause.

“Will you eat it or not?”

“Afterwards,” he said weakly. “You can go.”

And he motioned her out.

She remained a little longer, looked at him with compassion and went

out.

A few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyes and looked for a long while

at the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoon and

began to eat.

He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it were

mechanically. His head ached less. After his meal he stretched himself

on the sofa again, but now he could not sleep; he lay without stirring,

with his face in the pillow. He was haunted by day-dreams and such

strange day-dreams; in one, that kept recurring, he fancied that he was

in Africa, in Egypt, in some sort of oasis. The caravan was resting,

the camels were peacefully lying down; the palms stood all around in a

complete circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was drinking water

from a spring which flowed gurgling close by. And it was so cool, it was

wonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water running among the parti-coloured

stones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there like

gold.... Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He started, roused himself,

raised his head, looked out of the window, and seeing how late it was,

suddenly jumped up wide awake as though someone had pulled him off the

sofa. He crept on tiptoe to the door, stealthily opened it and began

listening on the staircase. His heart beat terribly. But all was quiet

on the stairs as if everyone was asleep.... It seemed to him strange and

monstrous that he could have slept in such forgetfulness from the

previous day and had done nothing, had prepared nothing yet.... And

meanwhile perhaps it had struck six. And his drowsiness and stupefaction

were followed by an extraordinary, feverish, as it were distracted

haste. But the preparations to be made were few. He concentrated all his

energies on thinking of everything and forgetting nothing; and his heart

kept beating and thumping so that he could hardly breathe. First he had

to make a noose and sew it into his overcoat--a work of a moment. He

rummaged under his pillow and picked out amongst the linen stuffed away

under it, a worn out, old unwashed shirt. From its rags he tore a long

strip, a couple of inches wide and about sixteen inches long. He folded

this strip in two, took off his wide, strong summer overcoat of some

stout cotton material (his only outer garment) and began sewing the two

ends of the rag on the inside, under the left armhole. His hands shook

as he sewed, but he did it successfully so that nothing showed outside

when he put the coat on again. The needle and thread he had got ready

long before and they lay on his table in a piece of paper. As for the

noose, it was a very ingenious device of his own; the noose was intended

for the axe. It was impossible for him to carry the axe through the

street in his hands. And if hidden under his coat he would still have

had to support it with his hand, which would have been noticeable. Now

he had only to put the head of the axe in the noose, and it would hang

quietly under his arm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coat

pocket, he could hold the end of the handle all the way, so that it did

not swing; and as the coat was very full, a regular sack in fact, it

could not be seen from outside that he was holding something with the

hand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had designed a

fortnight before.

When he had finished with this, he thrust his hand into a little opening

between his sofa and the floor, fumbled in the left corner and drew out

the _pledge_, which he had got ready long before and hidden there. This

pledge was, however, only a smoothly planed piece of wood the size and

thickness of a silver cigarette case. He picked up this piece of wood

in one of his wanderings in a courtyard where there was some sort of

a workshop. Afterwards he had added to the wood a thin smooth piece

of iron, which he had also picked up at the same time in the street.

Putting the iron which was a little the smaller on the piece of wood,

he fastened them very firmly, crossing and re-crossing the thread round

them; then wrapped them carefully and daintily in clean white paper and

tied up the parcel so that it would be very difficult to untie it. This

was in order to divert the attention of the old woman for a time, while

she was trying to undo the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron strip

was added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the first

minute that the “thing” was made of wood. All this had been stored by

him beforehand under the sofa. He had only just got the pledge out when

he heard someone suddenly about in the yard.

“It struck six long ago.”

“Long ago! My God!”

He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to descend

his thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had still the

most important thing to do--to steal the axe from the kitchen. That the

deed must be done with an axe he had decided long ago. He had also a

pocket pruning-knife, but he could not rely on the knife and still less

on his own strength, and so resolved finally on the axe. We may note in

passing, one peculiarity in regard to all the final resolutions taken by

him in the matter; they had one strange characteristic: the more final

they were, the more hideous and the more absurd they at once became in

his eyes. In spite of all his agonising inward struggle, he never for