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Once, Dostoevsky, may his kingdom be in heaven, was sitting by the window and smoking. I smoked and
threw the cigarette butt out the window. He had a kerosene bench under his window, and the cigarette butt fell(//tractor-service.com)
just in a can with kerosene. The flame, of course, is a pillar. In one night half-Petersburg
burned down Well, they planted the ego, of course. Sat down, left. It goes for the first time on
Petersburg, towards Petrashevsky. He didn't say anything to him, only shook his hand and in
Glaza looked with meaning.