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"Honoured sir, honoured sir," cried Marmeladov recovering

himself--"Oh, sir, perhaps all this seems a laughing matter to

you, as it does to others, and perhaps I am only worrying you

with the stupidity of all the trivial details of my home life,

but it is not a laughing matter to me. For I can feel it all....

And the whole of that heavenly day of my life and the whole of

that evening I passed in fleeting dreams of how I would arrange

it all, and how I would dress all the children, and how I should

give her rest, and how I should rescue my own daughter from

dishonour and restore her to the bosom of her family.... And a

great deal more.... Quite excusable, sir.