community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

line stringlengths 2 76
Raskolnikov still gazed wildly with strained attention. Meanwhile
Razumihin sat down on the sofa beside him, as clumsily as a bear put his
left arm round Raskolnikov’s head, although he was able to sit up, and
with his right hand gave him a spoonful of soup, blowing on it that
it might not burn him. But the soup was only just warm. Raskolnikov
swallowed one spoonful greedily, then a second, then a third. But after
giving him a few more spoonfuls of soup, Razumihin suddenly stopped, and
said that he must ask Zossimov whether he ought to have more.

Nastasya came in with two bottles of beer.

“And will you have tea?”

“Yes.”

“Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea, for tea we may venture on
without the faculty. But here is the beer!” He moved back to his chair,
pulled the soup and meat in front of him, and began eating as though he
had not touched food for three days.

“I must tell you, Rodya, I dine like this here every day now,” he
mumbled with his mouth full of beef, “and it’s all Pashenka, your dear
little landlady, who sees to that; she loves to do anything for me. I
don’t ask for it, but, of course, I don’t object. And here’s Nastasya
with the tea. She is a quick girl. Nastasya, my dear, won’t you have
some beer?”

“Get along with your nonsense!”

“A cup of tea, then?”

“A cup of tea, maybe.”

“Pour it out. Stay, I’ll pour it out myself. Sit down.”

He poured out two cups, left his dinner, and sat on the sofa again. As
before, he put his left arm round the sick man’s head, raised him up
and gave him tea in spoonfuls, again blowing each spoonful steadily and
earnestly, as though this process was the principal and most effective
means towards his friend’s recovery. Raskolnikov said nothing and made
no resistance, though he felt quite strong enough to sit up on the sofa
without support and could not merely have held a cup or a spoon, but
even perhaps could have walked about. But from some queer, almost
animal, cunning he conceived the idea of hiding his strength and lying
low for a time, pretending if necessary not to be yet in full possession
of his faculties, and meanwhile listening to find out what was going on.
Yet he could not overcome his sense of repugnance. After sipping a dozen
spoonfuls of tea, he suddenly released his head, pushed the spoon away
capriciously, and sank back on the pillow. There were actually real
pillows under his head now, down pillows in clean cases, he observed
that, too, and took note of it.

“Pashenka must give us some raspberry jam to-day to make him some
raspberry tea,” said Razumihin, going back to his chair and attacking
his soup and beer again.

“And where is she to get raspberries for you?” asked Nastasya, balancing
a saucer on her five outspread fingers and sipping tea through a lump of
sugar.

“She’ll get it at the shop, my dear. You see, Rodya, all sorts of things
have been happening while you have been laid up. When you decamped in
that rascally way without leaving your address, I felt so angry that I
resolved to find you out and punish you. I set to work that very day.
How I ran about making inquiries for you! This lodging of yours I had
forgotten, though I never remembered it, indeed, because I did not know
it; and as for your old lodgings, I could only remember it was at the
Five Corners, Harlamov’s house. I kept trying to find that Harlamov’s
house, and afterwards it turned out that it was not Harlamov’s, but
Buch’s. How one muddles up sound sometimes! So I lost my temper, and I
went on the chance to the address bureau next day, and only fancy, in
two minutes they looked you up! Your name is down there.”

“My name!”

“I should think so; and yet a General Kobelev they could not find while
I was there. Well, it’s a long story. But as soon as I did land on this
place, I soon got to know all your affairs--all, all, brother, I know
everything; Nastasya here will tell you. I made the acquaintance of
Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, and the house-porter and Mr.
Zametov, Alexandr Grigorievitch, the head clerk in the police office,
and, last, but not least, of Pashenka; Nastasya here knows....”

“He’s got round her,” Nastasya murmured, smiling slyly.

“Why don’t you put the sugar in your tea, Nastasya Nikiforovna?”

“You are a one!” Nastasya cried suddenly, going off into a giggle. “I am
not Nikiforovna, but Petrovna,” she added suddenly, recovering from her
mirth.

“I’ll make a note of it. Well, brother, to make a long story short,
I was going in for a regular explosion here to uproot all malignant
influences in the locality, but Pashenka won the day. I had not
expected, brother, to find her so... prepossessing. Eh, what do you
think?”

Raskolnikov did not speak, but he still kept his eyes fixed upon him,
full of alarm.

Raskolnikov still gazed wildly with strained attention. Meanwhile

Razumihin sat down on the sofa beside him, as clumsily as a bear put his

left arm round Raskolnikov’s head, although he was able to sit up, and

with his right hand gave him a spoonful of soup, blowing on it that

it might not burn him. But the soup was only just warm. Raskolnikov

swallowed one spoonful greedily, then a second, then a third. But after

giving him a few more spoonfuls of soup, Razumihin suddenly stopped, and

said that he must ask Zossimov whether he ought to have more.

Nastasya came in with two bottles of beer.

“And will you have tea?”

“Yes.”

“Cut along, Nastasya, and bring some tea, for tea we may venture on

without the faculty. But here is the beer!” He moved back to his chair,

pulled the soup and meat in front of him, and began eating as though he

had not touched food for three days.

“I must tell you, Rodya, I dine like this here every day now,” he

mumbled with his mouth full of beef, “and it’s all Pashenka, your dear

little landlady, who sees to that; she loves to do anything for me. I

don’t ask for it, but, of course, I don’t object. And here’s Nastasya

with the tea. She is a quick girl. Nastasya, my dear, won’t you have

some beer?”

“Get along with your nonsense!”

“A cup of tea, then?”

“A cup of tea, maybe.”

“Pour it out. Stay, I’ll pour it out myself. Sit down.”

He poured out two cups, left his dinner, and sat on the sofa again. As

before, he put his left arm round the sick man’s head, raised him up

and gave him tea in spoonfuls, again blowing each spoonful steadily and

earnestly, as though this process was the principal and most effective

means towards his friend’s recovery. Raskolnikov said nothing and made

no resistance, though he felt quite strong enough to sit up on the sofa

without support and could not merely have held a cup or a spoon, but

even perhaps could have walked about. But from some queer, almost

animal, cunning he conceived the idea of hiding his strength and lying

low for a time, pretending if necessary not to be yet in full possession

of his faculties, and meanwhile listening to find out what was going on.

Yet he could not overcome his sense of repugnance. After sipping a dozen

spoonfuls of tea, he suddenly released his head, pushed the spoon away

capriciously, and sank back on the pillow. There were actually real

pillows under his head now, down pillows in clean cases, he observed

that, too, and took note of it.

“Pashenka must give us some raspberry jam to-day to make him some

raspberry tea,” said Razumihin, going back to his chair and attacking

his soup and beer again.

“And where is she to get raspberries for you?” asked Nastasya, balancing

a saucer on her five outspread fingers and sipping tea through a lump of

sugar.

“She’ll get it at the shop, my dear. You see, Rodya, all sorts of things

have been happening while you have been laid up. When you decamped in

that rascally way without leaving your address, I felt so angry that I

resolved to find you out and punish you. I set to work that very day.

How I ran about making inquiries for you! This lodging of yours I had

forgotten, though I never remembered it, indeed, because I did not know

it; and as for your old lodgings, I could only remember it was at the

Five Corners, Harlamov’s house. I kept trying to find that Harlamov’s

house, and afterwards it turned out that it was not Harlamov’s, but

Buch’s. How one muddles up sound sometimes! So I lost my temper, and I

went on the chance to the address bureau next day, and only fancy, in

two minutes they looked you up! Your name is down there.”

“My name!”

“I should think so; and yet a General Kobelev they could not find while

I was there. Well, it’s a long story. But as soon as I did land on this

place, I soon got to know all your affairs--all, all, brother, I know

everything; Nastasya here will tell you. I made the acquaintance of

Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, and the house-porter and Mr.

Zametov, Alexandr Grigorievitch, the head clerk in the police office,

and, last, but not least, of Pashenka; Nastasya here knows....”

“He’s got round her,” Nastasya murmured, smiling slyly.

“Why don’t you put the sugar in your tea, Nastasya Nikiforovna?”

“You are a one!” Nastasya cried suddenly, going off into a giggle. “I am

not Nikiforovna, but Petrovna,” she added suddenly, recovering from her

mirth.

“I’ll make a note of it. Well, brother, to make a long story short,

I was going in for a regular explosion here to uproot all malignant

influences in the locality, but Pashenka won the day. I had not

expected, brother, to find her so... prepossessing. Eh, what do you

think?”

Raskolnikov did not speak, but he still kept his eyes fixed upon him,

full of alarm.