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Next day she took the clerks out of it, flung them on the floor, and put her school friends in their place. The government uniforms made way for white pelerines. Kolya, his Excellency's little son, picked up the clerks and painted their clothes red. Those who had no moustaches he presented with green moustaches and added brown beards to the beardless.
“Don’t laugh, Kolya. Of course I’m afraid. My father would be awfully cross. I am strictly forbidden to go out with you.” “Don’t be uneasy, nothing will happen this time. Hallo, Natasha!” he shouted to a market woman in one of the booths. “Call me Natasha! What next! My name is Marya,” the middle-aged market woman shouted at him. “I am so glad it’s Marya. Good-by!” “Ah, you young rascal!
And at once rapidly, consciously, as though having weighed the significance of her words: "Yes, of course, of course, I would have told you! But haven't you ever heard what sort of a thing is that disease called syphilis?" "Of course, I've heard... The nose falls through..." "No, Kolya, not only the nose!
"Why didn't you let us know," said Samoylenko angrily. "You dolts!" "It's all the same, don't worry yourself . . ." said Von Koren. "Well, good-bye. God keep you." Samoylenko embraced Von Koren and made the sign of the cross over him three times. "Don't forget us, Kolya. . . . Write. . . . We shall look out for you next spring." "Good-bye, deacon," said Von Koren, shaking hands with the deacon.
“We love you, we love you!” they all caught it up. There were tears in the eyes of many of them. “Hurrah for Karamazov!” Kolya shouted ecstatically. “And may the dead boy’s memory live for ever!” Alyosha added again with feeling. “For ever!” the boys chimed in again.
There’s a lot of nastiness in it, of course.... Of course I can understand that it’s a philosophical novel and written to advocate an idea....” Kolya was getting mixed by now. “I am a Socialist, Karamazov, I am an incurable Socialist,” he announced suddenly, apropos of nothing. “A Socialist?” laughed Alyosha. “But when have you had time to become one? Why, I thought you were only thirteen?”
“Nikolay—Nikolay Ivanovitch Krassotkin, or, as they say in official documents, ‘Krassotkin son.’ ” Kolya laughed for some reason, but added suddenly, “Of course I hate my name Nikolay.” “Why so?” “It’s so trivial, so ordinary.” “You are thirteen?” asked Alyosha. “No, fourteen—that is, I shall be fourteen very soon, in a fortnight.
Nowadays the very children have begun to suffer from it. It’s almost a sort of insanity. The devil has taken the form of that vanity and entered into the whole generation; it’s simply the devil,” added Alyosha, without a trace of the smile that Kolya, staring at him, expected to see. “You are like every one else,” said Alyosha, in conclusion, “that is, like very many others.
Snegiryov is not drunk, we know for a fact he’s had nothing to drink to-day, but he seems as if he were drunk ... I am always manly, but this is awful. Karamazov, if I am not keeping you, one question before you go in?” “What is it, Kolya?” said Alyosha. “Is your brother innocent or guilty? Was it he killed your father or was it the valet? As you say, so it will be.
The laughter enraged Kólya: he seized the much-discussed pig's hind legs and before the gypsy woman could prevent him, had torn it out of the basket. But the pig was heavier than such animals are wont to be at that age, so that Kólya bumped the noble creature's nose against the ground. As he did so a dollar rolled out of the pig's mouth. "Oho! the thalers are here too!"
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