Kitap · Crime and Punishment
Sayfa 220 / 1294
Yazar: Fyodor Dostoevsky
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"If anyone had come in, what would he have thought? That I'm
drunk but..."
He rushed to the window. There was light enough, and he began
hurriedly looking himself all over from head to foot, all his
clothes; were there no traces? But there was no doing it like
that; shivering with cold, he began taking off everything and
looking over again. He turned everything over to the last threads
and rags, and mistrusting himself, went through his search three
times.
But there seemed to be nothing, no trace, except in one place,
where some thick drops of congealed blood were clinging to the
frayed edge of his trousers. He picked up a big claspknife and
cut off the frayed threads. There seemed to be nothing more.
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