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An elegant carriage stood in the middle of the road with a pair

of spirited grey horses; there was no one in it, and the coachman

had got off his box and stood by; the horses were being held by

the bridle.... A mass of people had gathered round, the police

standing in front. One of them held a lighted lantern which he

was turning on something lying close to the wheels. Everyone was

talking, shouting, exclaiming; the coachman seemed at a loss and

kept repeating:

"What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfortune!"

Raskolnikov pushed his way in as far as he could, and succeeded

at last in seeing the object of the commotion and interest. On

the ground a man who had been run over lay apparently

unconscious, and covered with blood; he was very badly dressed,

but not like a workman. Blood was flowing from his head and face;

his face was crushed, mutilated and disfigured. He was evidently

badly injured.