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作者: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"Where is the money?" she cried--"Mercy on us, can he have drunk
it all? There were twelve silver roubles left in the chest!" and
in a fury she seized him by the hair and dragged him into the
room. Marmeladov seconded her efforts by meekly crawling along on
his knees.
"And this is a consolation to me! This does not hurt me, but is a
positive con-so-la-tion, ho-nou-red sir," he called out, shaken
to and fro by his hair and even once striking the ground with his
forehead. The child asleep on the floor woke up, and began to
cry. The boy in the corner losing all control began trembling and
screaming and rushed to his sister in violent terror, almost in a
fit. The eldest girl was shaking like a leaf.

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