The ResurrectionPrincess Sophia Vasilievna had finished her meal of choice and nourishing dishes, which she always took alone, that no one might see her performing that unpoetical function. A cup of coffee stood on a small table near her couch, and she was smoking a cigarette. Princess Sophia Vasilievna was a lean and tall brunet, with long teeth and large black eyes, who desired to pass for a young woman. People were making unpleasant remarks about her relations with the doctor. Formerly Nekhludoff had paid no attention to them. But to-day, the sight of the doctor, with his oily, sleek head, which was parted in the middle, sitting near her couch, was repulsive to him. Beside the Princess sat Kolosoff, stirring the coffee. A glass of liquor was on the table. Missy entered, together with Nekhludoff, but she did not remain in the room. "When mama gets tired of you and drives you away, come to my room," she said, turning to Nekhludoff, as if nothing had...
I Suffering and ever-present danger are quick teachers. In the three months of penitentiary life I have learned many things. I doubt whether the vague terrors pictured by my inexperience were more dreadful than the actuality of prison existence. In one respect, especially, the reality is a source of bitterness and constant irritation. Notwithstanding all its terrors, perhaps because of them, I had always thought of prison as a place where, in a measure, nature comes into its own: social distinctions are abolished, artificial barriers destroyed; no need of hiding one's thoughts and emotions; one could be his real self, shedding all hypocrisy and artifice at the prison gates. But how different is this life! It is full of deceit, sham, and pharisaism-an aggravated counterpart of the outside world. The flatterer, the backbiter, the spy,-these find here a rich soil. The ill-will of a guard portends disaster, to be averted only by truckling and flattery,...