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Updated: June 8, 2025
He was engaged in such monologues when Zossimov, who had spent the night in Praskovya Pavlovna's parlour, came in. He was going home and was in a hurry to look at the invalid first. Razumihin informed him that Raskolnikov was sleeping like a dormouse. Zossimov gave orders that they shouldn't wake him and promised to see him again about eleven. "If he is still at home," he added. "Damn it all!
As my uncle Pyotr Demyanitch, a lean, bilious collegiate councillor, exceedingly like a stale smoked fish with a stick through it, was getting ready to go to the high school, where he taught Latin, he noticed that the corner of his grammar was nibbled by mice. "I say, Praskovya," he said, going into the kitchen and addressing the cook, "how is it we have got mice here?
Shatushka, what do you think? If people can tell lies why shouldn't a card?" She suddenly threw the cards together again. "I said the same thing to Mother Praskovya, she's a very venerable woman, she used to run to my cell to tell her fortune on the cards, without letting the Mother Superior know. Yes, and she wasn't the only one who came to me.
"You see.... But won't you sit down, Pyotr Stepanovitch?" "Oh, as you please. I am tired indeed. Thank you." He instantly moved up an easy chair and turned it so that he had Varvara Petrovna on one side and Praskovya Ivanovna at the table on the other, while he faced Lebyadkin, from whom he did not take his eyes for one minute. "You are mistaken in calling this eccentricity...."
Praskovya Mikhaylovna had remained awake too for a great part of the night, trying to soften her daughter's anger against her husband. She saw that it was impossible for her son-in-law, a weak creature, to be other than he was, and realized that his wife's reproaches could do no good so she used all her efforts to soften those reproaches and to avoid recrimination and anger.
Praskovya Mikhaylovna led him into it. 'Here you can rest. Don't take offence... but I must go out. 'Where to? 'I have to go to a lesson. I am ashamed to tell you, but I teach music! 'Music? But that is good. Only just one thing, Praskovya Mikhaylovna, I have come to you with a definite object. When can I have a talk with you? 'I shall be very glad. Will this evening do? 'Yes.
But from all her explanations and outpourings nothing certain could be gathered but that there actually had been some sort of quarrel between Liza and Nikolay, but of the nature of the quarrel Praskovya Ivanovna was obviously unable to form a definite idea.
"Don't whimper, please, Praskovya Ivanovna, and leave me alone, gentlemen, please, I don't want any water!" Varvara Petrovna pronounced in a firm though low voice, with blanched lips.
"And you fell in love with the priest who used to teach us scripture at school so much for you, since you've such a spiteful memory. Ha ha ha!" She laughed viciously and went off into a fit of coughing. "Ah, you've not forgotten the priest then..." said Varvara Petrovna, looking at her vindictively. Her face turned green. Praskovya Ivanovna suddenly assumed a dignified air.
Lipa and Praskovya had dropped a little behind, and when the old man was on a level with them Lipa bowed down low and said: "Good-evening, Grigory Petrovitch." Her mother, too, bowed down. The old man stopped and, saying nothing, looked at the two in silence; his lips were quivering and his eyes full of tears. Lipa took out of her mother's bundle a piece of savoury turnover and gave it him.
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