Fyodor Dostoevsky. (№ 466277)

There is no such beautiful type of woman in the whole world as English women. All this crowds the streets with difficulty, crowded and dense. The crowd does not fit on the sidewalks and floods the entire street. All this is hungry for prey and rushes with shameless cynicism at the first person it meets. There are shiny, expensive clothes and almost rags, and a sharp difference in age, all together. A drunken tramp also jostles in this terrible crowd, and a titled rich man also comes here. You can hear curses, quarrels, barking and the quiet, inviting whisper of a still timid beauty. And what beauty sometimes!