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Yazar: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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And I have already drunk it! Come, who will have pity on a man
like me, eh? Are you sorry for me, sir, or not? Tell me, sir, are
you sorry or not? He-he-he!"
He would have filled his glass, but there was no drink left. The
pot was empty.
"What are you to be pitied for?" shouted the tavern-keeper who
was again near them.
Shouts of laughter and even oaths followed. The laughter and the
oaths came from those who were listening and also from those who
had heard nothing but were simply looking at the figure of the
discharged government clerk.
"To be pitied! Why am I to be pitied?" Marmeladov suddenly
declaimed, standing up with his arm outstretched, as though he
had been only waiting for that question.

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