{"id":"01KFE0DX1VP3T8PBTNGVM2M91X","cid":"bafkreiag2jsdrpxp3u6a4sayla6nbl3ra27nzdzvxtthz2ah35c5bdh6eu","type":"file","properties":{"cid":"bafkreiegk5kolghtehostgttfaqothsiqjuetykfsiubq3hnaouxruysrq","content_type":"image/jpeg","filename":"crimepunishment00dostiala_page_0270.jpg","key":"pdf-page-1768923001323-px5tvnvgwnd","label":"crimepunishment00dostiala_page_0270.jpg","page_number":270,"pdf_type":"born_digital","size":226458,"text":"262 CRIME AND PUNISHMENT\nkilled, and / felt beforehand that I should tell myself so after\nkilling her. Can anything be compared with the horror of that!\nThe vulgarity! The abjectness! I understand the 'prophet' with\nhis sabre, on his steed: Allah commands and 'trembling' creation\nmust obey! The 'prophet' is right, he is right when he sets a\nbattery across the street and blows up the innocent and the\nguilty without deigning to explain! It's for you to obey, trem-\nblirrg creation, and not to have desires, for that's not for you!\n... I shall never, never forgive the old woman!\"\nHis hair was soaked with sweat, his quivering lips were\nparched, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling.\n\"Mother, sister — how I loved them! Why do I hate them\nnow? Yes, I hate them, I feel a physical hatred for them, I can't\nbear them near me. ... I went up to my mother and kissed her,\nI remember. . . . To embrace her and think if she only knew\n. . . shall I tell her then? That's just what I might do. . . . H'm.\nShe must be the same as I am,\" he added, straining himself to\nthink, as it were struggling with delirium. \"Ah, how I hate the\nold woman now! I feel I should kill her again if she came to life!\nPoor Lizaveta! \"Why did she come in? . . . It's strange though,\nwhy is it I scarcely ever think of her, as though I hadn't killed\nher! Lizaveta! Sonia! Poor gentle things, with gentle eyes. . . .\nDear women! Why don't they weep? Why don't they moan?\nThey give up everything . . . their eyes are soft and gentle. . . .\nSonia, Sonia! Gentle Sonia!\"\nHe lost consciousness; it seemed strange to him that he didn't\nremember how he got into the street. It was late evening. The\ntwilight had fallen and the full moon was shining more and\nmore brightly; but there was a peculiar breathlessness in the\nair. There were crowds of people in the street; workmen and\nbusiness people were making their way home; other people\nhad come out for a walk; there was a smell of mortar, dust and\nstagnant water. Raskolnikov walked along, mournful and anx-\nious; hewas distinctly aware of having come out with a purpose,\nof having to do something in a hurry, but what it was he had\nforgotten. Suddenly he stood still and saw a man standing on the\nother side of the street, beckoning to him. He crossed over to\nhim, but at once the man turned and walked away with his head\nhanging, as though he had made no sign to him. \"Stay, did he\nreally beckon?\" Raskolnikov wondered, but he tried to over-","text_extracted_at":"2026-01-20T15:30:01.323Z","text_extracted_by":"pdf-processor","text_has_content":true,"text_source":"born_digital","uploaded":true},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KFCZZ05FKVDDMJJV3YE9Q4WH","peer_label":"crimepunishment00dostiala.pdf","peer_type":"file","predicate":"derived_from"},{"peer":"01KESYJX0Z6XE0HWTS5N3SDG0B","peer_label":"The Classics","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-20T15:30:02.111Z","ts":"2026-01-20T15:30:03.417Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFCZWTBNJH4WFMS8354919KY"}}