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Updated: June 8, 2025
'My God, my God! How you have humbled yourself, Father! Such great fame, and now like this... Sergius did not reply, but only smiled meekly, placing his wallet under the bench on which he sat. 'Masha, do you know who this is? And in a whisper Praskovya Mikhaylovna told her daughter who he was, and together they then carried the bed and the cradle out of the tiny room and cleared it for Sergius.
They sigh, and shake their heads at me, they talk it over while I laugh. 'Where are you going to get a letter from, Mother Praskovya, I say, 'when you haven't had one for twelve years? Her daughter had been taken away to Turkey by her husband, and for twelve years there had been no sight nor sound of her.
But, talking of foolishness, do you know Praskovya Pavlovna is not nearly so foolish as you would think at first sight?" "No," mumbled Raskolnikov, looking away, but feeling that it was better to keep up the conversation. "She isn't, is she?" cried Razumihin, delighted to get an answer out of him. "But she is not very clever either, eh? She is essentially, essentially an unaccountable character!
Praskovya Ivanovna drawled with a spiteful laugh. "Is it your place to mix yourself up with such 'stories. Ach, enough of your tyrannising!" She turned furiously to Varvara Petrovna. "I don't know whether it's true or not, they say you keep the whole town in order, but it seems your turn has come at last." Varvara Petrovna sat straight as an arrow ready to fly from the bow.
Oh, I forgot. Lise idolizes Darya Pavlovna, she says so anyway; she says of her 'c'est un ange, only rather a reserved one. They both advised me, even Praskovya. ... Praskovya didn't advise me though.
Praskovya Ivanovna indicated an easy chair near the table and sank heavily into it with the assistance of Mavriky Nikolaevitch. "I wouldn't have sat down in your house, my lady, if it weren't for my legs," she added in a breaking voice. "Why so, Praskovya Ivanovna; why wouldn't you sit down in my house?
She could hardly do so, not having seen him for almost twenty years. 'Don't think ill of me, Father. Perhaps you want something to eat? He took the bread and the money, and Praskovya Mikhaylovna was surprised that he did not go, but stood looking at her. 'Pashenka, I have come to you! Take me in...
"Praskovya Pavlovna means to complain to the police about you," she said. He scowled. "To the police? What does she want?" "You don't pay her money and you won't turn out of the room. That's what she wants, to be sure." "The devil, that's the last straw," he muttered, grinding his teeth, "no, that would not suit me... just now. She is a fool," he added aloud. "I'll go and talk to her to-day."
For ten seconds she looked sternly and immovably at Praskovya Ivanovna. "Well, Praskovya, you must thank God that all here present are our friends," she said at last with ominous composure. "You've said a great deal better unsaid." "But I'm not so much afraid of what the world will say, my lady, as some people. It's you who, under a show of pride, are trembling at what people will say.
Ahead of them all was Lipa singing in a high voice, with her eyes turned upwards to the sky, breaking into trills as though triumphant and ecstatic that at last the day was over and she could rest. In the crowd was her mother Praskovya, who was walking with a bundle in her arms and breathless as usual. "Good-evening, Makaritch!" cried Lipa, seeing Crutch. "Good-evening, darling!"
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