CHAPTER VII.
An elegant carriage stood in the middle of the road with a pair of spirited grey horses; there was no one in it, and the coachman had got off his box and stood by; the horses were being held by the bridle....
A mass of people had gathered round, the police standing in front.

One of them held a lighted lantern which he was turning on something lying close to the wheels.

Everyone was talking, shouting, exclaiming; the coachman seemed at a loss and kept repeating: "What a misfortune! Good Lord, what a misfortune!" Raskolnikov pushed his way in as far as he could, and succeeded at last in seeing the object of the commotion and interest.

On the ground a man who had been run over lay apparently unconscious, and covered with blood; he was very badly dressed, but not like a workman.

Blood was flowing from his head and face; his face was crushed, mutilated and disfigured.