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He announced that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch had suddenly arrived that morning by the early train, and was now at Skvoreshniki but "in such a state that his honour did not answer any questions, walked through all the rooms and shut himself up in his own wing...." "Though I received no orders I thought it best to come and inform you," Alexey Yegorytch concluded with a very significant expression.

He remembered how before starting for Moscow he had once said to his cowman Nikolay, a simple-hearted peasant, whom he liked talking to: "Well, Nikolay! I mean to get married," and how Nikolay had promptly answered, as of a matter on which there could be no possible doubt: "And high time too, Konstantin Demitrievitch." But marriage had now become further off than ever.

They recollected every farthing and included it in the reckoning. Nikolay Parfenovitch hurriedly added up the total. “With this eight hundred you must have had about fifteen hundred at first?” “I suppose so,” snapped Mitya. “How is it they all assert there was much more?” “Let them assert it.” “But you asserted it yourself.” “Yes, I did, too.”

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, you said just now that you had been expressly informed; surely Stepan Trofimovitch hasn't written to you in the same style?" "I did get a very harmless and... and... very generous letter from him...." "You hesitate, you pick out your words. That's enough! Stepan Trofimovitch, I request a great favour from you." She suddenly turned to him with flashing eyes.

The little sandy paths were wet and slippery. Alexey Yegoryvitch walked along as he was, bareheaded, in his swallow-tail coat, lighting up the path for about three steps before them with the lantern. "Won't it be noticed?" Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch asked suddenly. "Not from the windows. Besides I have seen to all that already," the old servant answered in quiet and measured tones.

The doctor who was with us told us, after seeing him, that he may possibly not outlive the night.” “Well, if that’s so, the devil must have killed him,” broke suddenly from Mitya, as though until that moment he had been asking himself: “Was it Smerdyakov or not?” “We will come back to this later,” Nikolay Parfenovitch decided. “Now, wouldn’t you like to continue your statement?”

I've cheered you on your way." "Be off!" "But do you know the way here? There are all sorts of turnings.... I could guide you; for this town is for all the world as though the devil carried it in his basket and dropped it in bits here and there." "I'll tie you up!" said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, turning upon him menacingly.

It had not come by post, but had been put in Alexey Yegorytch's hand in Skvoreshniki by some unknown person. And Alexey Yegorytch had immediately set off and put it into her hands himself and had then returned to Skvoreshniki. For a long while Darya Pavlovna gazed at the letter with a beating heart, and dared not open it. She knew from whom it came: the writer was Nikolay Stavrogin.

Struck by man's daring, she would ask him incredulously, "Is it possible?" Quietly, with unshakable confidence in the truth of his prophecies, Nikolay peered with his kind eyes through his glasses into the mother's face, and told her stories of the future. "There is no measure to the desires of man; and his power is inexhaustible," he said.

Not that I murmur exactly; for I dare not, I dare not, but only because I've been devoured with impatience all the week... to have things settled at last." "How so?" "To hear my fate, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. Please sit down." He bowed, pointing to a seat by the table, before the sofa. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked round. The room was tiny and low-pitched.