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Yazar: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"It was my mistake, too, not to have given them money," he
thought, as he returned dejectedly to Lebeziatnikov's room, "and
why on earth was I such a Jew? It was false economy! I meant to
keep them without a penny so that they should turn to me as their
providence, and look at them! foo! If I'd spent some fifteen
hundred roubles on them for the trousseau and presents, on
knick-knacks, dressing-cases, jewellery, materials, and all that
sort of trash from Knopp's and the English shop, my position
would have been better and... stronger! They could not have
refused me so easily! They are the sort of people that would feel
bound to return money and presents if they broke it off; and they
would find it hard to do it! And their conscience would prick
them: how can we dismiss a man who has hitherto been so generous
and delicate?.... H'm! I've made a blunder."
And grinding his teeth again, Pyotr Petrovitch called himself a
fool--but not aloud, of course.

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