community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

line stringlengths 2 76

The door was as before opened a tiny crack, and again two sharp and
suspicious eyes stared at him out of the darkness. Then Raskolnikov lost
his head and nearly made a great mistake.

Fearing the old woman would be frightened by their being alone, and not
hoping that the sight of him would disarm her suspicions, he took
hold of the door and drew it towards him to prevent the old woman from
attempting to shut it again. Seeing this she did not pull the door back,
but she did not let go the handle so that he almost dragged her out with
it on to the stairs. Seeing that she was standing in the doorway not
allowing him to pass, he advanced straight upon her. She stepped back
in alarm, tried to say something, but seemed unable to speak and stared
with open eyes at him.

“Good evening, Alyona Ivanovna,” he began, trying to speak easily, but
his voice would not obey him, it broke and shook. “I have come... I have
brought something... but we’d better come in... to the light....”

And leaving her, he passed straight into the room uninvited. The old
woman ran after him; her tongue was unloosed.

“Good heavens! What it is? Who is it? What do you want?”

“Why, Alyona Ivanovna, you know me... Raskolnikov... here, I brought you
the pledge I promised the other day...” And he held out the pledge.

The old woman glanced for a moment at the pledge, but at once stared in
the eyes of her uninvited visitor. She looked intently, maliciously and
mistrustfully. A minute passed; he even fancied something like a sneer
in her eyes, as though she had already guessed everything. He felt that
he was losing his head, that he was almost frightened, so frightened
that if she were to look like that and not say a word for another half
minute, he thought he would have run away from her.

“Why do you look at me as though you did not know me?” he said suddenly,
also with malice. “Take it if you like, if not I’ll go elsewhere, I am
in a hurry.”

He had not even thought of saying this, but it was suddenly said of
itself. The old woman recovered herself, and her visitor’s resolute tone
evidently restored her confidence.

“But why, my good sir, all of a minute.... What is it?” she asked,
looking at the pledge.

“The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time, you know.”

She held out her hand.

“But how pale you are, to be sure... and your hands are trembling too?
Have you been bathing, or what?”

“Fever,” he answered abruptly. “You can’t help getting pale... if you’ve
nothing to eat,” he added, with difficulty articulating the words.

His strength was failing him again. But his answer sounded like the
truth; the old woman took the pledge.

“What is it?” she asked once more, scanning Raskolnikov intently, and
weighing the pledge in her hand.

“A thing... cigarette case.... Silver.... Look at it.”

“It does not seem somehow like silver.... How he has wrapped it up!”

Trying to untie the string and turning to the window, to the light (all
her windows were shut, in spite of the stifling heat), she left
him altogether for some seconds and stood with her back to him. He
unbuttoned his coat and freed the axe from the noose, but did not yet
take it out altogether, simply holding it in his right hand under the
coat. His hands were fearfully weak, he felt them every moment growing
more numb and more wooden. He was afraid he would let the axe slip and
fall.... A sudden giddiness came over him.

“But what has he tied it up like this for?” the old woman cried with
vexation and moved towards him.

He had not a minute more to lose. He pulled the axe quite out, swung
it with both arms, scarcely conscious of himself, and almost without
effort, almost mechanically, brought the blunt side down on her head. He
seemed not to use his own strength in this. But as soon as he had once
brought the axe down, his strength returned to him.

The old woman was as always bareheaded. Her thin, light hair, streaked
with grey, thickly smeared with grease, was plaited in a rat’s tail and
fastened by a broken horn comb which stood out on the nape of her neck.
As she was so short, the blow fell on the very top of her skull. She
cried out, but very faintly, and suddenly sank all of a heap on the
floor, raising her hands to her head. In one hand she still held “the
pledge.” Then he dealt her another and another blow with the blunt side
and on the same spot. The blood gushed as from an overturned glass, the
body fell back. He stepped back, let it fall, and at once bent over her
face; she was dead. Her eyes seemed to be starting out of their sockets,
the brow and the whole face were drawn and contorted convulsively.

He laid the axe on the ground near the dead body and felt at once in her
pocket (trying to avoid the streaming body)--the same right-hand pocket
from which she had taken the key on his last visit. He was in full
possession of his faculties, free from confusion or giddiness, but his

The door was as before opened a tiny crack, and again two sharp and

suspicious eyes stared at him out of the darkness. Then Raskolnikov lost

his head and nearly made a great mistake.

Fearing the old woman would be frightened by their being alone, and not

hoping that the sight of him would disarm her suspicions, he took

hold of the door and drew it towards him to prevent the old woman from

attempting to shut it again. Seeing this she did not pull the door back,

but she did not let go the handle so that he almost dragged her out with

it on to the stairs. Seeing that she was standing in the doorway not

allowing him to pass, he advanced straight upon her. She stepped back

in alarm, tried to say something, but seemed unable to speak and stared

with open eyes at him.

“Good evening, Alyona Ivanovna,” he began, trying to speak easily, but

his voice would not obey him, it broke and shook. “I have come... I have

brought something... but we’d better come in... to the light....”

And leaving her, he passed straight into the room uninvited. The old

woman ran after him; her tongue was unloosed.

“Good heavens! What it is? Who is it? What do you want?”

“Why, Alyona Ivanovna, you know me... Raskolnikov... here, I brought you

the pledge I promised the other day...” And he held out the pledge.

The old woman glanced for a moment at the pledge, but at once stared in

the eyes of her uninvited visitor. She looked intently, maliciously and

mistrustfully. A minute passed; he even fancied something like a sneer

in her eyes, as though she had already guessed everything. He felt that

he was losing his head, that he was almost frightened, so frightened

that if she were to look like that and not say a word for another half

minute, he thought he would have run away from her.

“Why do you look at me as though you did not know me?” he said suddenly,

also with malice. “Take it if you like, if not I’ll go elsewhere, I am

in a hurry.”

He had not even thought of saying this, but it was suddenly said of

itself. The old woman recovered herself, and her visitor’s resolute tone

evidently restored her confidence.

“But why, my good sir, all of a minute.... What is it?” she asked,

looking at the pledge.

“The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time, you know.”

She held out her hand.

“But how pale you are, to be sure... and your hands are trembling too?

Have you been bathing, or what?”

“Fever,” he answered abruptly. “You can’t help getting pale... if you’ve

nothing to eat,” he added, with difficulty articulating the words.

His strength was failing him again. But his answer sounded like the

truth; the old woman took the pledge.

“What is it?” she asked once more, scanning Raskolnikov intently, and

weighing the pledge in her hand.

“A thing... cigarette case.... Silver.... Look at it.”

“It does not seem somehow like silver.... How he has wrapped it up!”

Trying to untie the string and turning to the window, to the light (all

her windows were shut, in spite of the stifling heat), she left

him altogether for some seconds and stood with her back to him. He

unbuttoned his coat and freed the axe from the noose, but did not yet

take it out altogether, simply holding it in his right hand under the

coat. His hands were fearfully weak, he felt them every moment growing

more numb and more wooden. He was afraid he would let the axe slip and

fall.... A sudden giddiness came over him.

“But what has he tied it up like this for?” the old woman cried with

vexation and moved towards him.

He had not a minute more to lose. He pulled the axe quite out, swung

it with both arms, scarcely conscious of himself, and almost without

effort, almost mechanically, brought the blunt side down on her head. He

seemed not to use his own strength in this. But as soon as he had once

brought the axe down, his strength returned to him.

The old woman was as always bareheaded. Her thin, light hair, streaked

with grey, thickly smeared with grease, was plaited in a rat’s tail and

fastened by a broken horn comb which stood out on the nape of her neck.

As she was so short, the blow fell on the very top of her skull. She

cried out, but very faintly, and suddenly sank all of a heap on the

floor, raising her hands to her head. In one hand she still held “the

pledge.” Then he dealt her another and another blow with the blunt side

and on the same spot. The blood gushed as from an overturned glass, the

body fell back. He stepped back, let it fall, and at once bent over her

face; she was dead. Her eyes seemed to be starting out of their sockets,

the brow and the whole face were drawn and contorted convulsively.

He laid the axe on the ground near the dead body and felt at once in her

pocket (trying to avoid the streaming body)--the same right-hand pocket

from which she had taken the key on his last visit. He was in full

possession of his faculties, free from confusion or giddiness, but his