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Updated: June 17, 2025
I say nothing of the waste of money and the moral damage to the spectator when he sees murder, fornication, or false witness unsuitably treated on the stage. Katya was of an entirely different opinion. She assured me that the theatre, even in its present condition, was superior to the lecture-hall, to books, or to anything in the world.
Because, with that I destroyed, too, my dream of going to Katya and saying, ‘I’m a scoundrel, but not a thief!’ Do you understand now? Do you understand?” “What was it made you decide to do it yesterday?” Nikolay Parfenovitch interrupted. “Why? It’s absurd to ask. Because I had condemned myself to die at five o’clock this morning, here, at dawn.
After parting from his brother on that night, he had felt in his frenzy that it would be better “to murder and rob some one than fail to pay my debt to Katya. I’d rather every one thought me a robber and a murderer, I’d rather go to Siberia than that Katya should have the right to say that I deceived her and stole her money, and used her money to run away with Grushenka and begin a new life!
I was lying against my honor and my conscience, but I wanted to save him, for he has hated and despised me so!” Katya cried madly. “Oh, he has despised me horribly, he has always despised me, and do you know, he has despised me from the very moment that I bowed down to him for that money. I saw that.... I felt it at once at the time, but for a long time I wouldn’t believe it.
They both accompany me with candles to the hall, and while I put on my fur coat, Mihail Fyodorovitch says: "You have grown dreadfully thin and older looking, Nikolay Stepanovitch. What's the matter with you? Are you ill?" "Yes; I am not very well." "And you are not doing anything for it..." Katya puts in grimly. "Why don't you? You can't go on like that!
But remember these last days! Surely for a long time past you must have known that everything understand me everything else has vanished long ago and left no trace? Look at me, say one word to me ... I love ... I love you ... believe me! Katya glanced at Arkady with a bright and serious look, and after long hesitation, with the faintest smile, she said, 'Yes.
The reports were very good, but to make them seem even better, she complained, with a sigh, how difficult the lessons at school were now. . . . She made much of her visitor, and was sorry for her, though at the same time she was harassed by the thought that Nadyezhda Fyodorovna might have a corrupting influence on the morals of Kostya and Katya, and was glad that her Nikodim Alexandritch was not at home.
But here there comes a ring at the front-door. Katya and I recognize it, and say: "It must be Mihail Fyodorovitch." And a minute later my colleague, the philologist Mihail Fyodorovitch, a tall, well-built man of fifty, clean-shaven, with thick grey hair and black eyebrows, walks in. He is a good-natured man and an excellent comrade.
The door opens, and I step back surprised and hurriedly wrap my dressing-gown round me. Before me stands Katya. "How do you do?" she says, breathless with running upstairs. "You didn't expect me? I have come here, too.... I have come, too!" She sits down and goes on, hesitating and not looking at me. "Why don't you speak to me?
They couldn't find the policeman anywhere of course, but they told Katya they might have to burn the house down if they didn't find him. I think they just said it to amuse themselves. But Katya believed it, and was in a terrible way and began collecting all her china in the middle of the floor, and then Ivan came in and told her not to be silly." "Weren't you frightened to come home?" asked Vera.
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