she would laugh inaudibly, shaking and swaying with her whole body until she began to feel sick.
‘Thought up a lot of money, have you?’ she managed to get out at last.
‘One can't go and give lessons to children if one doesn't have any boots. Oh, in any case, I don't give a spit.’
‘Don't spit in the well, will you?’
‘They pay one in coppers for giving lessons to children. What can one do with a few copecks?’ he went on reluctantly, as if he were trying to find answers to his own thoughts.
‘Oh, so you want all the capital at once, do you?’
He gave her a strange look.
‘Yes, all the capital,’ he replied firmly, after a slight pause.
‘Well, take it easy, or you'll end up frightening me; you've made me quite terrified. Do you want me to go and get you that roll, or not?’
‘As you wish.’
‘Oh, I forgot! There was a letter for you yesterday, it came when you weren't here.’
‘A letter? For me? From whom?’
‘I don't know. I had to give the postman three copecks out of my own money. Will you give me them back – eh?’
‘Oh, go and get it, for God's sake go and get it!’ Raskolnikov shouted, thoroughly excited. ‘Lord in Heaven!’
A moment later the letter made its appearance. It was as hethought: from his mother, in the province of R—. He actually turned pale as he took it. It was a long time since he had had any letters; now, however, his heart was wrung by some other, quite different emotion.
‘Nastasya, in the name of heaven, please go now; here are your three copecks; only, for God's sake, go!’
The letter trembled in his hands; he was reluctant to open it in her presence; he wanted to be left alone with this letter. When Nastasya had gone, he quickly brought it to his lips and kissed it; then for a long time he peered closely at the handwriting of the address, at the dear, familiar, fine and slanting script of his mother, who had once upon a time taught him to read and write. He lingered over it; he even seemed to be afraid of something. At last, he broke the seal: the letter was a big, thick one, two lots in weight; 1 the two large sheets of notepaper were entirely covered in microscopic handwriting.
My dear Rodya, ( his mother wrote )
It is now more than two months since I last spoke to you by letter, and I've suffered on that account, some nights I haven't even been able to sleep for thinking about it. But I know you won't blame me for this unwished-for silence of mine. You know how I love you; you're the only one we think of, Dunya and I, you're everything to us, all our hopes and aspirations rolled into one. How terrible I felt when I learned that a few months ago you dropped out of the university because you couldn't manage to support yourself, and that your lessons and your other means of income had come to a stop! How could I possibly help you when I have only my pension of a hundred and twenty roubles a year? The fifteen roubles I sent you four months ago I borrowed, as you yourself know, on the strength of that pension, from Afanasy Ivanovich Vakhrushin, a local merchant. He's a good, kind man, and he was one of your father's friends. But, having given him the right to receive the pension in my stead, I've had to wait until the debt was paid off, and this has only just happened now, so I've not been able to send you anything all this time. But now, thank God, I think I'll be able to send you a bit more, and indeed in general we cannow actually boast of our good fortune, which is what I'm in such a hurry to tell you about. In the first place, dear Rodya, would you believe it if I told you that for the past six weeks your sister has been living here with me, and that we're not going to be parted ever again? Thank the Lord, her torments are at an end, but I shall tell you it all in sequence, so you'll see what's been going on and what it is we've been hiding from you until now. When you wrote about two months ago and told me that you'd heard from someone that
‘Thought up a lot of money, have you?’ she managed to get out at last.
‘One can't go and give lessons to children if one doesn't have any boots. Oh, in any case, I don't give a spit.’
‘Don't spit in the well, will you?’
‘They pay one in coppers for giving lessons to children. What can one do with a few copecks?’ he went on reluctantly, as if he were trying to find answers to his own thoughts.
‘Oh, so you want all the capital at once, do you?’
He gave her a strange look.
‘Yes, all the capital,’ he replied firmly, after a slight pause.
‘Well, take it easy, or you'll end up frightening me; you've made me quite terrified. Do you want me to go and get you that roll, or not?’
‘As you wish.’
‘Oh, I forgot! There was a letter for you yesterday, it came when you weren't here.’
‘A letter? For me? From whom?’
‘I don't know. I had to give the postman three copecks out of my own money. Will you give me them back – eh?’
‘Oh, go and get it, for God's sake go and get it!’ Raskolnikov shouted, thoroughly excited. ‘Lord in Heaven!’
A moment later the letter made its appearance. It was as hethought: from his mother, in the province of R—. He actually turned pale as he took it. It was a long time since he had had any letters; now, however, his heart was wrung by some other, quite different emotion.
‘Nastasya, in the name of heaven, please go now; here are your three copecks; only, for God's sake, go!’
The letter trembled in his hands; he was reluctant to open it in her presence; he wanted to be left alone with this letter. When Nastasya had gone, he quickly brought it to his lips and kissed it; then for a long time he peered closely at the handwriting of the address, at the dear, familiar, fine and slanting script of his mother, who had once upon a time taught him to read and write. He lingered over it; he even seemed to be afraid of something. At last, he broke the seal: the letter was a big, thick one, two lots in weight; 1 the two large sheets of notepaper were entirely covered in microscopic handwriting.
My dear Rodya, ( his mother wrote )
It is now more than two months since I last spoke to you by letter, and I've suffered on that account, some nights I haven't even been able to sleep for thinking about it. But I know you won't blame me for this unwished-for silence of mine. You know how I love you; you're the only one we think of, Dunya and I, you're everything to us, all our hopes and aspirations rolled into one. How terrible I felt when I learned that a few months ago you dropped out of the university because you couldn't manage to support yourself, and that your lessons and your other means of income had come to a stop! How could I possibly help you when I have only my pension of a hundred and twenty roubles a year? The fifteen roubles I sent you four months ago I borrowed, as you yourself know, on the strength of that pension, from Afanasy Ivanovich Vakhrushin, a local merchant. He's a good, kind man, and he was one of your father's friends. But, having given him the right to receive the pension in my stead, I've had to wait until the debt was paid off, and this has only just happened now, so I've not been able to send you anything all this time. But now, thank God, I think I'll be able to send you a bit more, and indeed in general we cannow actually boast of our good fortune, which is what I'm in such a hurry to tell you about. In the first place, dear Rodya, would you believe it if I told you that for the past six weeks your sister has been living here with me, and that we're not going to be parted ever again? Thank the Lord, her torments are at an end, but I shall tell you it all in sequence, so you'll see what's been going on and what it is we've been hiding from you until now. When you wrote about two months ago and told me that you'd heard from someone that
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