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Updated: June 28, 2025
The silky grass with its ripe seeds came almost to his waist in the dampest spots. Crossing the meadow, Konstantin Levin came out onto the road, and met an old man with a swollen eye, carrying a skep on his shoulder. "What? taken a stray swarm, Fomitch?" he asked. "No, indeed, Konstantin Dmitrich! All we can do to keep our own!
But in the crowd he suddenly jostled against Nikodim Fomitch, who had heard of the accident and had come to give instructions in person. They had not met since the scene at the police station, but Nikodim Fomitch knew him instantly. "Ah, is that you?" he asked him. "He's dead," answered Raskolnikov. "The doctor and the priest have been, all as it should have been.
I was, I confess, alarmed; but Vassily Fomitch stepped forward with perfect composure, and saying in a stern voice, 'Now then, country bumpkin, shook his handkerchief at him. The bull backed again, bowed his horns ... suddenly rushed to one side and ran away, wagging his head from side to side. 'There's no doubt he took Prague, I thought. We went into the room.
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...."
Here's the gentleman, and very attractive he is!" "Poverty is not a vice, my friend, but we know you go off like powder, you can't bear a slight, I daresay you took offence at something and went too far yourself," continued Nikodim Fomitch, turning affably to Raskolnikov. "But you were wrong there; he is a capital fellow, I assure you, but explosive, explosive!
"You must give a written undertaking but as for your love affairs and all these tragic events, we have nothing to do with that." "Come now... you are harsh," muttered Nikodim Fomitch, sitting down at the table and also beginning to write. He looked a little ashamed. "Write!" said the head clerk to Raskolnikov. "Write what?" the latter asked, gruffly. "I will dictate to you."
He caught the sound of eager conversation on his departure, and above the rest rose the questioning voice of Nikodim Fomitch. In the street, his faintness passed off completely. "A search there will be a search at once," he repeated to himself, hurrying home. "The brutes! they suspect." His former terror mastered him completely again. "And what if there has been a search already?
And in the hall, when you were treating the chorus, you shouted straight out that you would leave your sixth thousand here—that is with what you spent before, we must understand. Stepan and Semyon heard it, and Pyotr Fomitch Kalganov, too, was standing beside you at the time. Maybe he’d remember it....” The evidence as to the “sixth” thousand made an extraordinary impression on the two lawyers.
Only, as far as acquaintance goes ... you needn't expect much satisfaction from it, sir; he's grown very weak in his head, and in conversation he's silly as a little child. As well he may be; he's past his eightieth year. 'What's his name? 'Vassily Fomitch. Guskov's his surname. 'And the deacon? 'The deacon? ... his nickname's Cucumber.
Don't worry the poor woman too much, she is in consumption as it is. Try and cheer her up, if possible... you are a kind-hearted man, I know..." he added with a smile, looking straight in his face. "But you are spattered with blood," observed Nikodim Fomitch, noticing in the lamplight some fresh stains on Raskolnikov's waistcoat.
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