"She was a dissolute woman: no one wants any thing to do with her
now, so she has no way of getting any thing. The landlady has had
compassion on her, but now she means to turn her out . . . Agafya,
hey there, Agafya!" cried the woman.

We approached, and something rose up in the bunk. It was a woman
haggard and dishevelled, whose hair was half gray, and who was as
thin as a skeleton, dressed in a ragged and dirty chemise, and with
particularly brilliant and staring eyes. She looked past us with her
staring eyes, clutched at her jacket with one thin hand, in order to
cover her bony breast which was disclosed by her tattered chemise,
and oppressed, she cried, "What is it? what is it?" I asked her
about her means of livelihood. For a long time she did not
understand, and said, "I don't know myself; they persecute me." I
asked her,--it puts me to shame, my hand refuses to write it,--I
asked her whether it was true that she had nothing to eat? She
answered in the same hurried, feverish tone, staring at me the
while,--"No, I had nothing yesterday, and I have had nothing to-day."

The sight of this woman touched me, but not at all as had been the
case in the Lyapinsky house; there, my pity for these people made me
instantly feel ashamed of myself: but here, I rejoiced because I had
at last found what I had been seeking,--a hungry person.

I gave her a ruble, and I recollect being very glad that others saw
it. The old woman, on seeing this, immediately begged money of me
also. It afforded me such pleasure to give, that, without finding
out whether it was necessary to give or not, I gave something to the
old woman too. The old woman accompanied me to the door, and the