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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.
Though Nikolay Parfenovitch did insert this in the protocol, he showed the most praiseworthy tact and management. After sternly reprimanding Mitya, he cut short all further inquiry into the romantic aspect of the case, and hastened to pass to what was essential.
“You are wrong to make such comparisons ...” began Nikolay Parfenovitch, with extraordinary softness. “No, I’m not wrong, not at all!” Mitya flared up again, though his outburst of wrath had obviously relieved his heart. That you must believe you have no right indeed ... but— Be silent, heart, Be patient, humble, hold thy peace. Well, shall I go on?” he broke off gloomily.
When we told him that Grigory saw the door was open before he fell down, and had heard Smerdyakov behind the screen as he came out of his bedroom—Karamazov was positively crushed. My esteemed and witty colleague, Nikolay Parfenovitch, told me afterwards that he was almost moved to tears at the sight of him.
Nikolay Parfenovitch seemed to be gone a long time, “an insufferable time.” “He thinks of me as a puppy,” thought Mitya, gnashing his teeth. “That rotten prosecutor has gone, too, contemptuous no doubt, it disgusts him to see me naked!” Mitya imagined, however, that his clothes would be examined and returned to him.
I’m ready.... I understand that there’s nothing else for you to do.” Nikolay Parfenovitch informed him gently that he would be escorted at once by the rural police officer, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, who happened to be on the spot....
Both the lawyers remembered Gridyenko’s case perfectly, and so laid aside Mitya’s cap, and decided that all his clothes must be more thoroughly examined later. “Excuse me,” cried Nikolay Parfenovitch, suddenly, noticing that the right cuff of Mitya’s shirt was turned in, and covered with blood, “excuse me, what’s that, blood?” “Yes,” Mitya jerked out.
After the first inevitable inquiries and warnings, Nikolay Parfenovitch asked her, hesitating a little, but preserving the most courteous manner, on what terms she was with the retired lieutenant, Dmitri Fyodorovitch Karamazov. To this Grushenka firmly and quietly replied: “He was an acquaintance.
She entered with a stern and gloomy face, that looked almost composed and sat down quietly on the chair offered her by Nikolay Parfenovitch. She was very pale, she seemed to be cold, and wrapped herself closely in her magnificent black shawl. She was suffering from a slight feverish chill—the first symptom of the long illness which followed that night.
I’ve been sitting here, shouting that I’m innocent and thinking all the time ‘Smerdyakov!’ I can’t get Smerdyakov out of my head. In fact, I, too, thought of Smerdyakov just now; but only for a second. Almost at once I thought, ‘No, it’s not Smerdyakov.’ It’s not his doing, gentlemen.” “In that case is there anybody else you suspect?” Nikolay Parfenovitch inquired cautiously.
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