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作者: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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"Why, you thrashed Katerina Ivanovna a month ago. I heard so
yesterday... so that's what your convictions amount to... and the
woman question, too, wasn't quite sound, he-he-he!" and Pyotr
Petrovitch, as though comforted, went back to clicking his beads.
"It's all slander and nonsense!" cried Lebeziatnikov, who was
always afraid of allusions to the subject. "It was not like that
at all, it was quite different. You've heard it wrong; it's a
libel. I was simply defending myself. She rushed at me first with
her nails, she pulled out all my whiskers.... It's permissable
for anyone, I should hope, to defend himself and I never allow
anyone to use violence to me on principle, for it's an act of
despotism. What was I to do? I simply pushed her back."
"He-he-he!" Luzhin went on laughing maliciously.

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