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المؤلف: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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اضغط ابدأ واكتب السطور بدقة. · مفتاح الرجوع معطل — استمر حتى بعد الخطأ.

"No, I am studying," answered the young man, somewhat surprised
at the grandiloquent style of the speaker and also at being so
directly addressed. In spite of the momentary desire he had just
been feeling for company of any sort, on being actually spoken to
he felt immediately his habitual irritable and uneasy aversion
for any stranger who approached or attempted to approach him.
"A student then, or formerly a student," cried the clerk. "Just
what I thought! I'm a man of experience, immense experience,
sir," and he tapped his forehead with his fingers in
self-approval. "You've been a student or have attended some
learned institution!... But allow me...." He got up, staggered,
took up his jug and glass, and sat down beside the young man,
facing him a little sideways. He was drunk, but spoke fluently
and boldly, only occasionally losing the thread of his sentences
and drawling his words. He pounced upon Raskolnikov as greedily
as though he too had not spoken to a soul for a month.

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