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Updated: May 22, 2025
Kirillov listened open-eyed and appeared to be trying to reflect, but he seemed beyond understanding now. "Damn it all," Pyotr Stepanovitch cried all at once, ill-humouredly, "he hasn't signed it! Why are you staring like that? Sign!" "I want to abuse them," muttered Kirillov. He took the pen, however, and signed. "I want to abuse them." "Write 'Vive la republique, and that will be enough."
That will seem very plausible: they were friends and travelled together to America, there they quarrelled; and it will all be explained in the letter... and... and perhaps, if it seems feasible, we might dictate something more to Kirillov something about the manifestoes, for instance, and even perhaps about the fire. But I'll think about that.
In America I was lying for three months on straw beside a hapless creature, and I learnt from him that at the very time when you were sowing the seed of God and the Fatherland in my heart, at that very time, perhaps during those very days, you were infecting the heart of that hapless creature, that maniac Kirillov, with poison... you confirmed false malignant ideas in him, and brought him to the verge of insanity.... Go, look at him now, he is your creation... you've seen him though."
If you are an ass and go off to-morrow to inform the police, that would be rather a disadvantage to us; what do you think about it? Yes, you've bound yourself; you've given your word, you've taken money. That you can't deny...." Pyotr Stepanovitch was much excited, but for some time past Kirillov had not been listening. He paced up and down the room, lost in thought again.
Captain Lebyadkin, a stout, fleshy man over six feet in height, with curly hair and a red face, was so extremely drunk that he could scarcely stand up before me, and articulated with difficulty. I had seen him before, however, in the distance. "And this one!" he roared again, noticing Kirillov, who was still standing with the lantern; he raised his fist, but let it fall again at once.
At a dark corner in the slanting fence Pyotr Stepanovitch took out a plank, leaving a gap, through which he promptly scrambled. Liputin was surprised, but he crawled through after him; then they replaced the plank after them. This was the secret way by which Fedka used to visit Kirillov. "Shatov mustn't know that we are here," Pyotr Stepanovitch whispered sternly to Liputin.
Stavrogin stood with his pistol lowered and awaited his shot without moving. "Too long; you've been aiming too long!" Kirillov shouted impetuously. "Fire! Fire!" But the shot rang out, and this time Stavrogin's white beaver hat flew off. The aim had been fairly correct. The crown of the hat was pierced very low down; a quarter of an inch lower and all would have been over.
"He got that sore lying in America." "Who? What sore?" "I mean Kirillov. I spent four months with him lying on the floor of a hut." "Why, have you been in America?" I asked, surprised. "You never told me about it." "What is there to tell?
"There are logs here, I can fetch them if only I don't wake her. But I can do it without waking her. But what shall I do about the veal? When she gets up perhaps she will be hungry.... Well, that will do later: Kirillov doesn't go to bed all night. What could I cover her with, she is sleeping so soundly, but she must be cold, ah, she must be cold!"
"Well then, he's deceiving you. I know that even Kirillov, who scarcely belongs to them at all, has given them information about you. And they have lots of agents, even people who don't know that they're serving the society. They've always kept a watch on you.
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