Kitap · Crime and Punishment
Sayfa 169 / 1294
Yazar: Fyodor Dostoevsky
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He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it
were mechanically. His head ached less. After his meal he
stretched himself on the sofa again, but now he could not sleep;
he lay without stirring, with his face in the pillow. He was
haunted by day-dreams and such strange day-dreams; in one, that
kept recurring, he fancied that he was in Africa, in Egypt, in
some sort of oasis. The caravan was resting, the camels were
peacefully lying down; the palms stood all around in a complete
circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was drinking water
from a spring which flowed gurgling close by. And it was so cool,
it was wonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water running among the
parti-coloured stones and over the clean sand which glistened
here and there like gold.... Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He
started, roused himself, raised his head, looked out of the
window, and seeing how late it was, suddenly jumped up wide awake
as though someone had pulled him off the sofa.
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