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Yazar: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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Words of the most unceremonious kind flew out from time to time.
Raskolnikov recognised Katerina Ivanovna at once. She was a
rather tall, slim and graceful woman, terribly emaciated, with
magnificent dark brown hair and with a hectic flush in her
cheeks. She was pacing up and down in her little room, pressing
her hands against her chest; her lips were parched and her
breathing came in nervous broken gasps. Her eyes glittered as in
fever and looked about with a harsh immovable stare. And that
consumptive and excited face with the last flickering light of
the candle-end playing upon it made a sickening impression. She
seemed to Raskolnikov about thirty years old and was certainly a
strange wife for Marmeladov.... She had not heard them and did
not notice them coming in. She seemed to be lost in thought,
hearing and seeing nothing. The room was close, but she had not
opened the window; a stench rose from the staircase, but the door
on to the stairs was not closed.

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