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صفحة 388 من 1294

المؤلف: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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

"I'll explain that afterwards, but now, my boy, I declare to
you... no, better 'I confess'... No, that's not right either; 'I
make a deposition and you take it.' I depose that I was reading,
that I was looking and searching...." he screwed up his eyes and
paused. "I was searching--and came here on purpose to do it--for
news of the murder of the old pawnbroker woman," he articulated
at last, almost in a whisper, bringing his face exceedingly close
to the face of Zametov. Zametov looked at him steadily, without
moving or drawing his face away. What struck Zametov afterwards
as the strangest part of it all was that silence followed for
exactly a minute, and that they gazed at one another all the
while.
"What if you have been reading about it?" he cried at last,
perplexed and impatient. "That's no business of mine! What of
it?"

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