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Автор: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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We prefer to live on other people's ideas, it's what we are used
to! Am I right, am I right?" cried Razumihin, pressing and
shaking the two ladies' hands.
"Oh, mercy, I do not know," cried poor Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
"Yes, yes... though I don't agree with you in everything," added
Avdotya Romanovna earnestly and at once uttered a cry, for he
squeezed her hand so painfully.
"Yes, you say yes... well after that you... you..." he cried in a
transport, "you are a fount of goodness, purity, sense... and
perfection. Give me your hand... you give me yours, too! I want
to kiss your hands here at once, on my knees..." and he fell on
his knees on the pavement, fortunately at that time deserted.
"Leave off, I entreat you, what are you doing?" Pulcheria
Alexandrovna cried, greatly distressed.
"Get up, get up!" said Dounia laughing, though she, too, was
upset.

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