Raskolnikov joined the throng of women, who were talking in husky voices.

They were bare-headed and wore cotton dresses and goatskin shoes.

There were women of forty and some not more than seventeen; almost all had blackened eyes.
He felt strangely attracted by the singing and all the noise and uproar in the saloon below....

someone could be heard within dancing frantically, marking time with his heels to the sounds of the guitar and of a thin falsetto voice singing a jaunty air.

He listened intently, gloomily and dreamily, bending down at the entrance and peeping inquisitively in from the pavement.
"Oh, my handsome soldier Don't beat me for nothing," trilled the thin voice of the singer.