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“Ask away.” Mitya took the piece of paper out of his waistcoat pocket, unfolded it and showed it. In a large, distinct hand was written: “I punish myself for my whole life, my whole life I punish!” “I will certainly speak to some one, I’ll go at once,” said Pyotr Ilyitch, after reading the paper. “You won’t have time, dear boy, come and have a drink. March!”
As soon as he was announced he was received with extraordinary rapidity. “As though she were waiting for me,” thought Mitya, and as soon as he had been led to the drawing-room, the lady of the house herself ran in, and declared at once that she was expecting him. “I was expecting you! I was expecting you! Though I’d no reason to suppose you would come to see me, as you will admit yourself.
Having uttered these words Mitya sat down again on his chair. Grushenka stood up and crossed herself devoutly before the ikon. “Thanks be to Thee, O Lord,” she said, in a voice thrilled with emotion, and still standing, she turned to Nikolay Parfenovitch and added: “As he has spoken now, believe it! I know him.
LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Read it. MÍTYA. Directly. Seats himself at the table, and takes the paper: LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA approaches very near to him. "In the meadow no grasses wither, And never a flower doth fade; However a fair lad fadeth That once was a lusty blade. He loved a handsome damsel; For that his grief is great, And heavy his misfortune, For she came of high estate.
Owing to his swollen legs, the old man could hardly walk at all, and was only rarely lifted from his leather arm-chair, when the old woman supporting him led him up and down the room once or twice. He was morose and taciturn even with this old woman. When he was informed of the arrival of the “captain,” he at once refused to see him. But Mitya persisted and sent his name up again.
Something utterly unexpected and amazing to Mitya followed. He could never, even a minute before, have conceived that any one could behave like that to him, Mitya Karamazov.
You thought, of course, that I should jump at that, catch at your prompting, and shout with all my might, ‘Aie! it’s Smerdyakov; he’s the murderer.’ Confess that’s what you thought. Confess, and I’ll go on.” But the prosecutor did not confess. He held his tongue and waited. “You’re mistaken. I’m not going to shout ‘It’s Smerdyakov,’ ” said Mitya. “And you don’t even suspect him?”
It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now—” And, obviously only now for the first time struck by an idea, he recounted eagerly how, at his last interview with Mitya that evening under the tree, on the road to the monastery, Mitya had struck himself on the breast, “the upper part of the breast,” and had repeated several times that he had a means of regaining his honor, that that means was here, here on his breast. “I thought, when he struck himself on the breast, he meant that it was in his heart,” Alyosha continued, “that he might find in his heart strength to save himself from some awful disgrace which was awaiting him and which he did not dare confess even to me.
I will go with him now, if it’s to death!” “Grusha, my life, my blood, my holy one!” Mitya fell on his knees beside her and held her tight in his arms. “Don’t believe her,” he cried, “she’s not guilty of anything, of any blood, of anything!”
MÍTYA and PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Mítya, Mítya dear! MÍTYA. What do you want? PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Come up to us later on in the evening, my dear, and play with the girls. We're going to sing songs. MÍTYA. Thank you exceedingly, I shall make it my first duty. PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Why are you always sitting alone in the office? It's not very cheerful! You'll come, won't you?
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