And I don’t blame her for it, no, I don’t blame her!⁠ ⁠… Six days ago when I brought her my first earnings in full⁠—twenty-three roubles forty kopecks altogether⁠—she called me her poppet: ‘poppet,’ said she, ‘my little poppet.’ And when we were by ourselves, you understand? You would not think me a beauty, you would not think much of me as a husband, would you?⁠ ⁠… Well, she pinched my cheek, ‘my little poppet,’ said she.”

Marmeladov broke off, tried to smile, but suddenly his chin began to twitch. He controlled himself however. The tavern, the degraded appearance of the man, the five nights in the hay barge, and the pot of spirits, and yet this poignant love for his wife and children bewildered his listener. Raskolnikov listened intently but with a sick sensation. He felt vexed that he had come here.