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المؤلف: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"The best thing, mother, will be for us to go to him ourselves
and there I assure you we shall see at once what's to be done.
Besides, it's getting late--good heavens, it's past ten," she
cried looking at a splendid gold enamelled watch which hung round
her neck on a thin Venetian chain, and looked entirely out of
keeping with the rest of her dress. "A present from her fiance,"
thought Razumihin.
"We must start, Dounia, we must start," her mother cried in a
flutter. "He will be thinking we are still angry after yesterday,
from our coming so late. Merciful heavens!"

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