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著者: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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He'll come of himself, or maybe do something which will make it
as plain as twice two are four--it's delightful. It may be so
with a simple peasant, but with one of our sort, an intelligent
man cultivated on a certain side, it's a dead certainty. For, my
dear fellow, it's a very important matter to know on what side a
man is cultivated. And then there are nerves, there are nerves,
you have overlooked them! Why, they are all sick, nervous and
irritable!... And then how they all suffer from spleen! That I
assure you is a regular gold-mine for us. And it's no anxiety to
me, his running about the town free! Let him, let him walk about
for a bit! I know well enough that I've caught him and that he
won't escape me. Where could he escape to, he-he? Abroad,
perhaps? A Pole will escape abroad, but not here, especially as I
am watching and have taken measures. Will he escape into the
depths of the country perhaps? But you know, peasants live there,
real rude Russian peasants.

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