nape　of　her　neck。　As　she　was　so　short；　the　blow　fell　on　the　very　top
  of　her　skull。　She　cried　out；　but　very　faintly；　and　suddenly　sank　all
  of　a　heap　on　the　floor；　raising　her　hands　to　her　head。　In　one　hand　she
  still　held　〃the　pledge。〃　Then　he　dealt　her　another　and　another　blow
  with　the　blunt　side　and　on　the　same　spot。　The　blood　gushed　as　from
  an　overturned　glass；　the　body　fell　back。　He　stepped　back；　let　it　fall；
  and　at　once　bent　over　her　face；　she　was　dead。　Her　eyes　seemed　to　be
  starting　out　of　their　sockets；　the　brow　and　the　whole　face　were
  drawn　and　contorted　convulsively。
  He　laid　the　axe　on　the　ground　near　the　dead　body　and　felt　at　once　in
  her　pocket　（trying　to　avoid　the　streaming　body）…　the　same　right　hand
  pocket　from　which　she　had　taken　the　key　on　his　last　visit。　He　was　in
  full　possession　of　his　faculties；　free　from　confusion　or　giddiness；
  but　his　hands　were　still　trembling。　He　remembered　afterwards　that　he
  had　been　particularly　collected　and　careful；　trying　all　the　time　not
  to　get　smeared　with　blood。。。。　He　pulled　out　the　keys　at　once；　they
  were　all；　as　before；　in　one　bunch　on　a　steel　ring。　He　ran　at　once　into
  the　bedroom　with　them。　It　was　a　very　small　room　with　a　whole　shrine　of
  holy　images。　Against　the　other　wall　stood　a　big　bed；　very　clean　and
  covered　with　a　silk　patchwork　wadded　quilt。　Against　a　third　wall　was　a
  chest　of　drawers。　Strange　to　say；　so　soon　as　he　began　to　fit　the
  keys　into　the　chest；　so　soon　as　he　heard　their　jingling；　a
  convulsive　shudder　passed　over　him。　He　suddenly　felt　tempted　again
  to　give　it　all　up　and　go　away。　But　that　was　only　for　an　instant；　it
  was　too　late　to　go　back。　He　positively　smiled　at　himself；　when
  suddenly　another　terrifying　idea　occurred　to　his　mind。　He　suddenly
  fancied　that　the　old　woman　might　be　still　alive　and　might　recover
  her　senses。　Leaving　the　keys　in　the　chest；　he　ran　back　to　the　body；
  snatched　up　the　axe　and　lifted　it　once　more　over　the　old　woman；　but
  did　not　bring　it　down。　There　was　no　doubt　that　she　was　dead。　Bending
  down　and　examining　her　again　more　closely；　he　saw　clearly　that　the
  skull　was　broken　and　even　battered　in　on　one　side。　He　was　about　to
  feel　it　with　his　finger；　but　drew　back　his　hand　and　indeed　it　was
  evident　without　that。　Meanwhile　there　was　a　perfect　pool　of　blood。　All
  at　once　he　noticed　a　string　on　her　neck；　he　tugged　at　it；　but　the
  string　was　strong　and　did　not　snap　and　besides；　it　was　soaked　with
  blood。　He　tried　to　pull　it　out　from　the　front　of　the　dress；　but
  something　held　it　and　prevented　its　coming。　In　his　impatience　he
  raised　the　axe　again　to　cut　the　string　from　above　on　the　body；　but　did
  not　dare；　and　with　difficulty；　smearing　his　hand　and　the　axe　in　the
  blood；　after　two　minutes'　hurried　effort；　he　cut　the　string　and　took
  it　off　without　touching　the　body　with　the　axe；　he　was　not　mistaken…　it
  was　a　purse。　On　the　string　were　two　crosses；　one　of　Cyprus　wood　and
  one　of　copper；　and　an　image　in　silver　filigree；　and　with　them　a
  small　greasy　chamois　leather　purse　with　a　steel　rim　and　ring。　The
  purse　was　stuffed　very　full；　Raskolnikov　thrust　it　in　his　pocket
  without　looking　at　it；　flung　the　crosses　on　the　old　woman's　body　and
  rushed　back　into　the　bedroom；　this　time　taking　the　axe　with　him。
  He　was　in　terrible　haste；　he　snatched　the　keys；　and　began　trying
  them　again。　But　he　was　unsuccessful。　They　would　not　fit　in　the
  locks。　It　was　not　so　much　that　his　hands　were　shaking；　but　that　he
  kept　making　mistakes；　though　he　saw　for　instance　that　a　key　was　not
  the　right　one　and　would　not　fit；　still　he　tried　to　put　it　in。　Suddenly
  he　remembered　and　realised　that　the　big　key　with　the　deep　notches；
  which　was　hanging　there　with　the　small　keys　could　not　possibly
  belong　to　the　chest　of　drawers　（on　his　last　visit　this　had　struck
  him）；　but　to　some　strong　box；　and　that　everything　perhaps　was　hidden
  in　that　box。　He　left　the　chest　of　drawers；　and　at　once　felt　under
  the　bedstead；　knowing　that　old　women　usually　keep　boxes　under　their
  beds。　And　so　it　was；　there　was　a　good…sized　box　under　the　bed；　at
  least　a　yard　in　length；　with　an　arched　lid　covered　with　red　leather
  and　studded　with　steel　nails。　The　notched　key　fitted　at　once　and
  unlocked　it。　At　the　top；　under　a　white　sheet；　was　a　coat　of　red
  brocade　lined　with　hareskin；　under　it　was　a　silk　dress；　then　a　shawl
  and　it　seemed　as　though　there　was　nothing　below　but　clothes。　The　first
  thing　he　did　was　to　wipe　his　blood…stained　hands　on　the　red　brocade。
  〃It's　red；　and　on　red　blood　will　be　less　noticeable；〃　the　thought
  passed　through　his　mind；　then　he　suddenly　came　to　himself。　〃Good
  God；　am　I　going　out　of　my　senses？〃　he　thought　with　terror。
  But　no　sooner　did　he　touch　the　clothes　than　a　gold　watch　slipped
  from　under　the　fur　coat。　He　made　haste　to　turn　them　all　over。　There
  turned　out　to　be　various　articles　made　of　gold　among　the
  clothes…probably　all　pledges；　unredeemed　or　waiting　to　be　redeemed…
  bracelets；　chains；　ear…rings；　pins　and　such　things。　Some　were　in
  cases；　others　simply　wrapped　in　newspaper；　carefully　and　exactly
  folded；　and　tied　round　with　tape。　Without　any　delay；　he　began
  filling　up　the　pockets　of　his　trousers　and　overcoat　without
  examining　or　undoing　the　parcels　and　cases；　but　he　had　not　time　to
  take　many。。。。
  He　suddenly　heard　steps　in　the　room　where　the　old　woman　lay。　He
  stopped　short　and　was　still　as　death。　But　all　was　quiet；　so　it　must
  have　been　his　fancy。　All　at　once　he　heard　distinctly　a　faint　cry；　as
  though　some　one　had　uttered　a　low　broken　moan。　Then　again　dead　silence
  for　a　minute　or　two。　He　sat　squatting　on　his　heels　by　the　box　and
  waited　holding　his　breath。　Suddenly　he　jumped　up；　seized　the　axe　and
  ran　out　of　the　bedroom。
  In　the　middle　of　the　room　stood　Lizaveta　with　a　big　bundle　in　her
  arms。　She　was　gazing　in　stupefaction　at　her　murdered　sister；　white
  as　a　sheet　and　seeming　not　to　have　the　strength　to　cry　out。　Seeing　him
  run　out　of　the　bedroom；　she　began　faintly　quivering　all　over；　like　a
  leaf；　a　shudder　ran　down　her　face；　she　lifted　her　hand；　opened　her
  mouth；　but　still　did　not　scream。　She　began　slowly　backing　away　from
  him　into　the　corner；　staring　intently；　persistently　at　him；　but
  still　uttered　no　sound；　as　though　she　could　not　get　breath　to
  scream。　He　rushed　at　her　with　the　axe；　her　mouth　twitched　piteously；
  as　one　sees　babies'　mouths；　when　they　begin　to　be　frightened；　stare
  intently　at　what　frightens　them　and　are　on　the　point　of　screaming。　And
  this　hapless　Lizaveta　was　so　simple　and　had　been　so　thoroughly　crushed
  and　scared　that　she　did　not　even　raise　a　hand　to　guard　her　face；
  though　that　was　the　most　necessary　and　natural　action　at　the　moment；
  for　the　axe　was　raised　over　her　face。　She　only　put　up　her　empty　left
  hand；　but　not　to　her　face；　slowly　holding　it　out　before　her　as
  though　motioning　him　away。　The　axe　fell　with　the　sharp　edge　just　on
  the　skull　and　split　at　one　blow　all　the　top　of　the　head。　She　fell
  heavily　at　once。　Raskolnikov　completely　lost　his　head；　snatched　up　her
  bundle；　dropped　it　again　and　ran　into　the　entry。
  Fear　gained　more　and　more　mastery　over　him；　especially　after　this
  second；　quite　unexpected　murder。　He　longed　to　run　away　from　the
  place　as　fast　as　possible。　And　if　at　that　moment　he　had　been　capable
  of　seeing　and　reasoning　more　correctly；　if　he　had　been　able　to　realise
  all　the　difficulties　of　his　position；　the　hopelessness；　the
  hideousness　and　the　absurdity　of　it；　if　he　could　have　understood　how
  many　obstacles　and；　perhaps；　crimes　he　had　still　to　overcome　or　to
  commit；　to　get　out　of　that　place　and　to　make　his　way　home；　it　is
  very　possible　that　he　would　have　flung　up　everything；　and　would　have
  gone　to　give　himself　up；　and　not　from　fear；　but　from　simple　horror　and
  loathing　of　what　he　had　done。　The　feeling　of　loathing　especially
  surged　up　within　him　and　grew　stronger　every　minute。　He　would　not
  now　have　gone　to　the　box　or　even　into　the　room　for　anything　in　the
  world。