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"This morning I went to see Sonia, I went to ask her for a

pick-me-up! He-he-he!"

"You don't say she gave it to you?" cried one of the new-comers;

he shouted the words and went off into a guffaw.

"This very quart was bought with her money," Marmeladov declared,

addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov. "Thirty copecks

she gave me with her own hands, her last, all she had, as I

saw.... She said nothing, she only looked at me without a

word.... Not on earth, but up yonder... they grieve over men,

they weep, but they don't blame them, they don't blame them! But

it hurts more, it hurts more when they don't blame! Thirty

copecks yes! And maybe she needs them now, eh? What do you think,

my dear sir? For now she's got to keep up her appearance. It

costs money, that smartness, that special smartness, you know? Do

you understand? And there's pomatum, too, you see, she must have

things; petticoats, starched ones, shoes, too, real jaunty ones

to show off her foot when she has to step over a puddle. Do you

understand, sir, do you understand what all that smartness means?

And here I, her own father, here I took thirty copecks of that

money for a drink! And I am drinking it!