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“Stay, Alexey Fyodorovitch, stay,” the captain began to talk with frenzied rapidity, carried away by a new day-dream. “Do you know that Ilusha and I will perhaps really carry out our dream. We will buy a horse and cart, a black horse, he insists on its being black, and we will set off as we pretended the other day.
We are in a regular plot to bring it about, and I am even staying on here perhaps on that account.” “But she has been crying—she has been wounded again,” cried Alyosha. “Never trust a woman’s tears, Alexey Fyodorovitch. I am never for the women in such cases. I am always on the side of the men.” “Mamma, you are spoiling him,” Lise’s little voice cried from behind the door.
Well, I was pleased; I thought I had amused her and the fits would pass off, especially as I wanted to refuse to see Ivan Fyodorovitch anyway on account of his strange visits without my knowledge, and meant to ask him for an explanation. But early this morning Lise waked up and flew into a passion with Yulia and, would you believe it, slapped her in the face.
The students' sins often vex me, but that vexation is nothing in comparison with the joy I have been experiencing now for the last thirty years when I talk to my pupils, lecture to them, watch their relations, and compare them with people not of their circle. Mihail Fyodorovitch speaks evil of everything.
“But what if he did not kill him, but only knocked him down?” “If he did not kill him, of course, I would not have ventured to take the money, and nothing would have happened. But I calculated that he would beat him senseless, and I should have time to take it then, and then I’d make out to Fyodor Pavlovitch that it was no one but Dmitri Fyodorovitch who had taken the money after beating him.”
“Listen, my dear, listen. If I take it, I shan’t be behaving like a scoundrel? In your eyes, Alexey Fyodorovitch, I shan’t be a scoundrel? No, Alexey Fyodorovitch, listen, listen,” he hurried, touching Alyosha with both his hands. “You are persuading me to take it, saying that it’s a sister sends it, but inwardly, in your heart won’t you feel contempt for me if I take it, eh?”
"It is, but I tell you what, brother, it's a pity we can't get on, you and I, without such exclamations." Pyotr sighed from politeness. "What are the little girls doing?" asked Kotchevoy. "The priest has not come. Alexey Fyodorovitch is giving them their lesson himself."
“Where was it, exactly?” “In the market-place, in the market-place! The devil knows whereabouts. What do you want to know for?” “That’s extremely important, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. It would be material evidence in your favor. How is it you don’t understand that? Who helped you to sew it up a month ago?” “No one helped me. I did it myself.” “Can you sew?” “A soldier has to know how to sew.
But if you want to make up for it and say something very clever, dear mamma, you’d better tell our honored visitor, Alexey Fyodorovitch, that he has shown his want of wit by venturing to us after what happened yesterday and although every one is laughing at him.” “Lise, you go too far. I declare I shall have to be severe. Who laughs at him?
Yulia flushed with emotion. As he finished, the priest gave her the cross to kiss, and said in quite a different tone of voice: "Now Fyodor Fyodorovitch must be married; it's high time." The choir began singing once more, people began moving, and the room was noisy again.
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