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Yes—but the parching sand-plains of Libya would be as fast a prison as the grave, and the life of a slave in Africa was a short one. Glaucon had passed from his horizon forever. Even whilst the boat pulled out to the trader, Hiram suggested that since his superior’s “unfortunate scruples” forbade them to shed blood, at least they could disable the most dangerous captive by putting out his eyes.
He told the coachman to wait, while with rapid steps he returned to the monastery and straight to the Father Superior’s. He had no clear idea what he would do, but he knew that he could not control himself, and that a touch might drive him to the utmost limits of obscenity, but only to obscenity, to nothing criminal, nothing for which he could be legally punished.
In the corner, under the ikons, was a reading-desk with a cross and the Gospel lying on it. The elder sank exhausted on the bed. His eyes glittered and he breathed hard. He looked intently at Alyosha, as though considering something. “Go, my dear boy, go. Porfiry is enough for me. Make haste, you are needed there, go and wait at the Father Superior’s table.” “Let me stay here,” Alyosha entreated.
Miüsov, as a man of breeding and delicacy, could not but feel some inward qualms, when he reached the Father Superior’s with Ivan: he felt ashamed of having lost his temper.
So it quite suits the girls, too,’ he said. There’s a set of de Sades for you! But it’s clever, anyway. Shall we go over and have a look at it, eh? Alyosha, are you blushing? Don’t be bashful, child. I’m sorry I didn’t stay to dinner at the Superior’s and tell the monks about the girls at Mokroe. Alyosha, don’t be angry that I offended your Superior this morning. I lost my temper.
It was the fear of a woman, of Katerina Ivanovna, who had so urgently entreated him in the note handed to him by Madame Hohlakov to come and see her about something. This request and the necessity of going had at once aroused an uneasy feeling in his heart, and this feeling had grown more and more painful all the morning in spite of the scenes at the hermitage and at the Father Superior’s.
They’ve broken out from the Father Superior’s. And look, Father Isidor’s shouting out something after them from the steps. And your father’s shouting and waving his arms. I expect he’s swearing. Bah, and there goes Miüsov driving away in his carriage. You see, he’s going. And there’s old Maximov running!—there must have been a row. There can’t have been any dinner.
“Yes,” answered Alyosha, who had in truth only eaten a piece of bread and drunk a glass of kvas in the Father Superior’s kitchen. “Though I should be pleased to have some hot coffee.” “Bravo, my darling! He’ll have some coffee. Does it want warming? No, it’s boiling. It’s capital coffee: Smerdyakov’s making. My Smerdyakov’s an artist at coffee and at fish patties, and at fish soup, too.
In the last resort, he could always restrain himself, and had marveled indeed at himself, on that score, sometimes. He appeared in the Father Superior’s dining-room, at the moment when the prayer was over, and all were moving to the table.
That action had made a terrible impression on Alyosha; he believed blindly in its mysterious significance. Mysterious, and perhaps awful. As he hastened out of the hermitage precincts to reach the monastery in time to serve at the Father Superior’s dinner, he felt a sudden pang at his heart, and stopped short. He seemed to hear again Father Zossima’s words, foretelling his approaching end.
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