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作者: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"That's true that I have friends here," Svidrigailov admitted,
not replying to the chief point. "I've met some already. I've
been lounging about for the last three days, and I've seen them,
or they've seen me. That's a matter of course. I am well dressed
and reckoned not a poor man; the emancipation of the serfs hasn't
affected me; my property consists chiefly of forests and water
meadows. The revenue has not fallen off; but... I am not going to
see them, I was sick of them long ago. I've been here three days
and have called on no one.... What a town it is! How has it come
into existence among us, tell me that? A town of officials and
students of all sorts. Yes, there's a great deal I didn't notice
when I was here eight years ago, kicking up my heels.... My only
hope now is in anatomy, by Jove, it is!"
"Anatomy?"

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