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Updated: June 4, 2025
Raskolnikoff, whose hilarity had suddenly died out, rose. "Porphyrius Petrovitch," he shouted in a clear and loud voice, although he could scarcely stand on his trembling legs, "I can no longer doubt that you suspect me of having assassinated this old woman as well as her sister, Elizabeth. Let me tell you that for some time I have had enough of this.
Marya Sergeyevna, laughing, regaled us with our purchases, and I thought that she certainly had wonderful hair and that her smile was unlike any other woman's. I watched her, and I wanted to detect in every look and movement that she did not love her husband, and I fancied that I did see it. Dmitri Petrovitch was soon struggling with sleep.
At the word "new," all grew dark before Akakiy Akakievitch's eyes, and everything in the room began to whirl round. The only thing he saw clearly was the general with the paper face on the lid of Petrovitch's snuff-box. "A new one?" said he, as if still in a dream: "why, I have no money for that." "Yes, a new one," said Petrovitch, with barbarous composure.
I cannot think of sleep while I know that my wife is a slave . . . . But it is not Groholsky's fault. . . . The goods were mine, the money his. . . . Freedom for the free and Heaven for the saved." By day Ivan Petrovitch was no less insufferable to Groholsky. To Groholsky's intense horror, he was always at Liza's side.
But how did you know that he had pledged anything with Alena Ivanovna?" cried Razoumikhin. Porphyrius Petrovitch, without any further reply, said to Raskolnikoff: "Your things, a ring and a watch, were at her place, wrapped up in a piece of paper, and on this paper your name was legibly written in pencil, with the date of the day she had received these things from you."
I shall be ruined; they will be the death of me altogether." "You silly! who will find you?" "They will find me; they will be sure to find me. Thank you, Piotr Petrovitch I shall never forget your kindness; but now you must leave me; such is my fate, it seems." "Ah, Matrona, Matrona, I thought you were a girl of character!"
Poor Piotr Petrovitch passed his hand over his face, thought a minute, and shook his head. 'Well?... I must own, though, he added after a brief silence, 'I can't blame anybody; it's my own fault. I was fond of cutting a dash, I am fond of cutting a dash, damn my soul! 'You had a jolly life in the country? I asked him. After the red fox they were devils, regular serpents.
I found Markovitch, his wife Vera Michailovna, his sister-in-law Nina Michailovna, his wife's uncle Ivan Petrovitch and a young man Boris Nicolaievitch Grogoff. Markovitch himself was a thin, loose, untidy man with pale yellow hair thinning on top, a ragged, pale beard, a nose with a tendency to redden at any sudden insult or unkind word and an expression perpetually anxious.
It was not a case of men misbehaving themselves, which would have put her, as a woman, to shame, but of ladies. In the evening, Ivan Petrovitch flew over, and with some embarrassment announced that he was now a man with a household to look after . . . . "You mustn't imagine they are just anybody," he said. "It is true they are French.
And indeed, judge for yourself, Boris Petrovitch, weren't you the very person for me to get money out of? . . . You were a wealthy man and had everything you wanted. . . . Your marriage was an idle whim, and so was your divorce. You were making a lot of money. . . . I remember you made a scoop of twenty thousand over one contract. Whom should I have fleeced if not you? And I must own I envied you.
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