community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

line stringlengths 2 76

He rushed to the corner, slipped his hand under the paper, pulled the
things out and lined his pockets with them. There were eight articles in
all: two little boxes with ear-rings or something of the sort, he hardly
looked to see; then four small leather cases. There was a chain, too,
merely wrapped in newspaper and something else in newspaper, that looked
like a decoration.... He put them all in the different pockets of his
overcoat, and the remaining pocket of his trousers, trying to conceal
them as much as possible. He took the purse, too. Then he went out of
his room, leaving the door open. He walked quickly and resolutely, and
though he felt shattered, he had his senses about him. He was afraid of
pursuit, he was afraid that in another half-hour, another quarter of an
hour perhaps, instructions would be issued for his pursuit, and so at
all costs, he must hide all traces before then. He must clear everything
up while he still had some strength, some reasoning power left him....
Where was he to go?

That had long been settled: “Fling them into the canal, and all traces
hidden in the water, the thing would be at an end.” So he had decided in
the night of his delirium when several times he had had the impulse to
get up and go away, to make haste, and get rid of it all. But to get
rid of it, turned out to be a very difficult task. He wandered along
the bank of the Ekaterininsky Canal for half an hour or more and looked
several times at the steps running down to the water, but he could not
think of carrying out his plan; either rafts stood at the steps’ edge,
and women were washing clothes on them, or boats were moored there, and
people were swarming everywhere. Moreover he could be seen and noticed
from the banks on all sides; it would look suspicious for a man to go
down on purpose, stop, and throw something into the water. And what if
the boxes were to float instead of sinking? And of course they would.
Even as it was, everyone he met seemed to stare and look round, as if
they had nothing to do but to watch him. “Why is it, or can it be my
fancy?” he thought.

At last the thought struck him that it might be better to go to the
Neva. There were not so many people there, he would be less observed,
and it would be more convenient in every way, above all it was further
off. He wondered how he could have been wandering for a good half-hour,
worried and anxious in this dangerous past without thinking of it
before. And that half-hour he had lost over an irrational plan, simply
because he had thought of it in delirium! He had become extremely absent
and forgetful and he was aware of it. He certainly must make haste.

He walked towards the Neva along V---- Prospect, but on the way
another idea struck him. “Why to the Neva? Would it not be better to go
somewhere far off, to the Islands again, and there hide the things
in some solitary place, in a wood or under a bush, and mark the spot
perhaps?” And though he felt incapable of clear judgment, the idea
seemed to him a sound one. But he was not destined to go there. For
coming out of V---- Prospect towards the square, he saw on the left a
passage leading between two blank walls to a courtyard. On the right
hand, the blank unwhitewashed wall of a four-storied house stretched far
into the court; on the left, a wooden hoarding ran parallel with it for
twenty paces into the court, and then turned sharply to the left. Here
was a deserted fenced-off place where rubbish of different sorts was
lying. At the end of the court, the corner of a low, smutty, stone shed,
apparently part of some workshop, peeped from behind the hoarding. It
was probably a carriage builder’s or carpenter’s shed; the whole place
from the entrance was black with coal dust. Here would be the place to
throw it, he thought. Not seeing anyone in the yard, he slipped in, and
at once saw near the gate a sink, such as is often put in yards where
there are many workmen or cab-drivers; and on the hoarding above had
been scribbled in chalk the time-honoured witticism, “Standing here
strictly forbidden.” This was all the better, for there would be nothing
suspicious about his going in. “Here I could throw it all in a heap and
get away!”

Looking round once more, with his hand already in his pocket, he noticed
against the outer wall, between the entrance and the sink, a big unhewn
stone, weighing perhaps sixty pounds. The other side of the wall was a
street. He could hear passers-by, always numerous in that part, but he
could not be seen from the entrance, unless someone came in from the
street, which might well happen indeed, so there was need of haste.

He bent down over the stone, seized the top of it firmly in both hands,
and using all his strength turned it over. Under the stone was a small
hollow in the ground, and he immediately emptied his pocket into it.
The purse lay at the top, and yet the hollow was not filled up. Then he
seized the stone again and with one twist turned it back, so that it was
in the same position again, though it stood a very little higher. But
he scraped the earth about it and pressed it at the edges with his foot.
Nothing could be noticed.

Then he went out, and turned into the square. Again an intense,
almost unbearable joy overwhelmed him for an instant, as it had in
the police-office. “I have buried my tracks! And who, who can think of
looking under that stone? It has been lying there most likely ever since
the house was built, and will lie as many years more. And if it were
found, who would think of me? It is all over! No clue!” And he laughed.
Yes, he remembered that he began laughing a thin, nervous noiseless
laugh, and went on laughing all the time he was crossing the square. But
when he reached the K---- Boulevard where two days before he had come
upon that girl, his laughter suddenly ceased. Other ideas crept into his
mind. He felt all at once that it would be loathsome to pass that seat
on which after the girl was gone, he had sat and pondered, and that it
would be hateful, too, to meet that whiskered policeman to whom he had
given the twenty copecks: “Damn him!”

He walked, looking about him angrily and distractedly. All his ideas now
seemed to be circling round some single point, and he felt that there

He rushed to the corner, slipped his hand under the paper, pulled the

things out and lined his pockets with them. There were eight articles in

all: two little boxes with ear-rings or something of the sort, he hardly

looked to see; then four small leather cases. There was a chain, too,

merely wrapped in newspaper and something else in newspaper, that looked

like a decoration.... He put them all in the different pockets of his

overcoat, and the remaining pocket of his trousers, trying to conceal

them as much as possible. He took the purse, too. Then he went out of

his room, leaving the door open. He walked quickly and resolutely, and

though he felt shattered, he had his senses about him. He was afraid of

pursuit, he was afraid that in another half-hour, another quarter of an

hour perhaps, instructions would be issued for his pursuit, and so at

all costs, he must hide all traces before then. He must clear everything

up while he still had some strength, some reasoning power left him....

Where was he to go?

That had long been settled: “Fling them into the canal, and all traces

hidden in the water, the thing would be at an end.” So he had decided in

the night of his delirium when several times he had had the impulse to

get up and go away, to make haste, and get rid of it all. But to get

rid of it, turned out to be a very difficult task. He wandered along

the bank of the Ekaterininsky Canal for half an hour or more and looked

several times at the steps running down to the water, but he could not

think of carrying out his plan; either rafts stood at the steps’ edge,

and women were washing clothes on them, or boats were moored there, and

people were swarming everywhere. Moreover he could be seen and noticed

from the banks on all sides; it would look suspicious for a man to go

down on purpose, stop, and throw something into the water. And what if

the boxes were to float instead of sinking? And of course they would.

Even as it was, everyone he met seemed to stare and look round, as if

they had nothing to do but to watch him. “Why is it, or can it be my

fancy?” he thought.

At last the thought struck him that it might be better to go to the

Neva. There were not so many people there, he would be less observed,

and it would be more convenient in every way, above all it was further

off. He wondered how he could have been wandering for a good half-hour,

worried and anxious in this dangerous past without thinking of it

before. And that half-hour he had lost over an irrational plan, simply

because he had thought of it in delirium! He had become extremely absent

and forgetful and he was aware of it. He certainly must make haste.

He walked towards the Neva along V---- Prospect, but on the way

another idea struck him. “Why to the Neva? Would it not be better to go

somewhere far off, to the Islands again, and there hide the things

in some solitary place, in a wood or under a bush, and mark the spot

perhaps?” And though he felt incapable of clear judgment, the idea

seemed to him a sound one. But he was not destined to go there. For

coming out of V---- Prospect towards the square, he saw on the left a

passage leading between two blank walls to a courtyard. On the right

hand, the blank unwhitewashed wall of a four-storied house stretched far

into the court; on the left, a wooden hoarding ran parallel with it for

twenty paces into the court, and then turned sharply to the left. Here

was a deserted fenced-off place where rubbish of different sorts was

lying. At the end of the court, the corner of a low, smutty, stone shed,

apparently part of some workshop, peeped from behind the hoarding. It

was probably a carriage builder’s or carpenter’s shed; the whole place

from the entrance was black with coal dust. Here would be the place to

throw it, he thought. Not seeing anyone in the yard, he slipped in, and

at once saw near the gate a sink, such as is often put in yards where

there are many workmen or cab-drivers; and on the hoarding above had

been scribbled in chalk the time-honoured witticism, “Standing here

strictly forbidden.” This was all the better, for there would be nothing

suspicious about his going in. “Here I could throw it all in a heap and

get away!”

Looking round once more, with his hand already in his pocket, he noticed

against the outer wall, between the entrance and the sink, a big unhewn

stone, weighing perhaps sixty pounds. The other side of the wall was a

street. He could hear passers-by, always numerous in that part, but he

could not be seen from the entrance, unless someone came in from the

street, which might well happen indeed, so there was need of haste.

He bent down over the stone, seized the top of it firmly in both hands,

and using all his strength turned it over. Under the stone was a small

hollow in the ground, and he immediately emptied his pocket into it.

The purse lay at the top, and yet the hollow was not filled up. Then he

seized the stone again and with one twist turned it back, so that it was

in the same position again, though it stood a very little higher. But

he scraped the earth about it and pressed it at the edges with his foot.

Nothing could be noticed.

Then he went out, and turned into the square. Again an intense,

almost unbearable joy overwhelmed him for an instant, as it had in

the police-office. “I have buried my tracks! And who, who can think of

looking under that stone? It has been lying there most likely ever since

the house was built, and will lie as many years more. And if it were

found, who would think of me? It is all over! No clue!” And he laughed.

Yes, he remembered that he began laughing a thin, nervous noiseless

laugh, and went on laughing all the time he was crossing the square. But

when he reached the K---- Boulevard where two days before he had come

upon that girl, his laughter suddenly ceased. Other ideas crept into his

mind. He felt all at once that it would be loathsome to pass that seat

on which after the girl was gone, he had sat and pondered, and that it

would be hateful, too, to meet that whiskered policeman to whom he had

given the twenty copecks: “Damn him!”

He walked, looking about him angrily and distractedly. All his ideas now

seemed to be circling round some single point, and he felt that there