Мертвые души
Chapter 4
“Ah,mydeliverer!”hecriedasherosefromthefloor,wherehehadbeengrovellinginheartrendingparoxysmsofgrief.Seizingtheoldman’shand,hekisseditandpressedittohisbosom.Then,burstingintotears,headded:“GodHimselfwillrewardyouforhavingcometovisitanunfortunatewretch!”
Murazovlookedathimsorrowfully,andsaidnomorethan“Ah,PaulIvanovitch,PaulIvanovitch!Whathashappened?”
“Whathashappened?”criedChichikov.“Ihavebeenruinedbyanaccursedwoman.ThatwasbecauseIcouldnotdothingsinmoderation—Iwaspowerlesstostopmyselfintime,Satantemptedme,anddrovemefrommysenses,andbereftmeofhumanprudence.Yes,trulyIhavesinned,Ihavesinned!YethowcameIsotosin?Tothinkthatadvorianin—yes,advorianin—shouldbethrownintoprisonwithoutprocessortrial!Irepeat,advorianin!WhywasInotgiventimetogohomeandcollectmyeffects?Whereasnowtheyareleftwithnoonetolookafterthem!Mydispatch-box,mydispatch-box!Itcontainedmywholeproperty,allthatmyheart’sbloodandyearsoftoilandwanthavebeenneededtoacquire.Andnoweverythingwillbestolen,AthanasiVassilievitch—everythingwillbetakenfromme!MyGod!”
And,unabletostandagainstthetorrentofgriefwhichcamerushingoverhisheartoncemore,hesobbedaloudintoneswhichpenetratedeventhethicknessoftheprisonwalls,andmadedullechoesawakebehindthem.Then,tearingoffhissatintie,andseizingbythecollar,thesmoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colourfrockcoat,hestrippedthelatterfromhisshoulders.
