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作者: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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Six days ago when I brought her my first earnings in
full--twenty-three roubles forty copecks altogether--she called
me her poppet: 'poppet,' said she, 'my little poppet.' And when
we were by ourselves, you understand? You would not think me a
beauty, you would not think much of me as a husband, would
you?... Well, she pinched my cheek, 'my little poppet,' said
she."
Marmeladov broke off, tried to smile, but suddenly his chin began
to twitch. He controlled himself however. The tavern, the
degraded appearance of the man, the five nights in the hay barge,
and the pot of spirits, and yet this poignant love for his wife
and children bewildered his listener. Raskolnikov listened
intently but with a sick sensation. He felt vexed that he had
come here.

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