Anelegantcarriagestoodinthemiddleoftheroadwithapairofspiritedgreyhorses；therewasnooneinit，andthecoachmanhadgotoffhisboxandstoodby；thehorseswerebeingheldbythebridle。…Amassofpeoplehadgatheredround，thepolicestandinginfront。Oneofthemheldalightedlanternwhichhewasturningonsomethinglyingclosetothewheels。Everyonewastalking，shouting，exclaiming；thecoachmanseemedatalossandkeptrepeating:
“Whatamisfortune！GoodLord，whatamisfortune！”
Raskolnikovpushedhiswayinasfarashecould，andsucceededatlastinseeingtheobjectofthecommotionandinterest。Onthegroundamanwhohadbeenrunoverlayapparentlyunconscious，andcoveredwithblood；hewasverybadlydressed，butnotlikeaworkman。Bloodwasflowingfromhisheadandface；hisfacewascrushed，mutilatedanddisfigured。Hewasevidentlybadlyinjured。
“Mercifulheaven！”wailedthecoachman，“whatmorecouldIdo？IfI’dbeendrivingfastorhadnotshoutedtohim，butIwasgoingquietly，notinahurry。EveryonecouldseeIwasgoingalongjustlikeeverybodyelse。Adrunkenmancan’twalkstraight，weallknow。…Isawhimcrossingthestreet，staggeringandalmostfalling。Ishoutedagainandasecondandathirdtime，thenIheldthehorsesin，buthefellstraightundertheirfeet！Eitherhediditonpurposeorhewasverytipsy。…Thehorsesareyoungandreadytotakefright…theystarted，hescreamed…thatmadethemworse。That’showithappened！”
“That’sjusthowitwas，”avoiceinthecrowdconfirmed。