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Sayfa 190 / 1294

Yazar: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"But why, my good sir, all of a minute.... What is it?" she
asked, looking at the pledge.
"The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time, you know."
She held out her hand.
"But how pale you are, to be sure... and your hands are trembling
too? Have you been bathing, or what?"
"Fever," he answered abruptly. "You can't help getting pale... if
you've nothing to eat," he added, with difficulty articulating
the words.
His strength was failing him again. But his answer sounded like
the truth; the old woman took the pledge.
"What is it?" she asked once more, scanning Raskolnikov intently,
and weighing the pledge in her hand.
"A thing... cigarette case.... Silver.... Look at it."
"It does not seem somehow like silver.... How he has wrapped it
up!"

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