It's summer now, so I've been buying summer things--warmer materials will be wanted for autumn, so you will have to throw these away in any case...
especially as they will be done for by then from their own lack of coherence if not your higher standard of luxury.

Come, price them! What do you say?
Two roubles twenty-five copecks! And remember the condition: if you wear these out, you will have another suit for nothing! They only do business on that system at Fedyaev's; if you've bought a thing once, you are satisfied for life, for you will never go there again of your own free will.

Now for the boots.

What do you say?
You see that they are a bit worn, but they'll last a couple of months, for it's foreign work and foreign leather; the secretary of the English Embassy sold them last week--he had only worn them six days, but he was very short of cash.
Price--a rouble and a half.

A bargain ?" "But perhaps they won't fit," observed Nastasya.
"Not fit?
Just look!" and he pulled out of his pocket Raskolnikov's old, broken boot, stiffly coated with dry mud.