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Updated: August 3, 2024
“No, I never believed it,” she answered firmly. “I had faith in his noble heart.” “Gentlemen, allow me,” cried Mitya suddenly, “allow me to say one word to Agrafena Alexandrovna, in your presence.” “You can speak,” Nikolay Parfenovitch assented. “Agrafena Alexandrovna!” Mitya got up from his chair, “have faith in God and in me. I am not guilty of my father’s murder!”
“May I look out of the window?” he asked Nikolay Parfenovitch, suddenly. “Oh, as much as you like,” the latter replied. Mitya got up and went to the window.... The rain lashed against its little greenish panes. He could see the muddy road just below the house, and farther away, in the rain and mist, a row of poor, black, dismal huts, looking even blacker and poorer in the rain.
You are doing yourself harm,” observed Nikolay Parfenovitch nervously. “You see, gentlemen, joking apart”—Mitya lifted his eyes and looked firmly at them both—“I had an inkling from the first that we should come to loggerheads at this point.
Having uttered these words Mitya sat down again on his chair. Grushenka stood up and crossed herself devoutly before the ikon. “Thanks be to Thee, O Lord,” she said, in a voice thrilled with emotion, and still standing, she turned to Nikolay Parfenovitch and added: “As he has spoken now, believe it! I know him.
“That’s horrible!” Mitya shuddered and, putting his elbows on the table, hid his face in his right hand. “We will continue,” interposed Nikolay Parfenovitch. “So what was it that impelled you to this sentiment of hatred? You have asserted in public, I believe, that it was based upon jealousy?” “Well, yes, jealousy. And not only jealousy.” “Disputes about money?” “Yes, about money, too.”
Though the prosecutor did not laugh, he kept his eyes fixed keenly on Mitya, as though anxious not to miss the least syllable, the slightest movement, the smallest twitch of any feature of his face. “That’s how we have treated you from the beginning,” said Nikolay Parfenovitch, still laughing. “We haven’t tried to put you out by asking how you got up in the morning and what you had for breakfast.
I’m rather drunk, too, I’ll tell you that frankly. I believe I’ve had the honor and pleasure of meeting you, Nikolay Parfenovitch, at my kinsman Miüsov’s. Gentlemen, gentlemen, I don’t pretend to be on equal terms with you. I understand, of course, in what character I am sitting before you.
Pyotr Ilyitch was simply dumbfounded when he went into the police captain’s. He saw instantly that every one knew. They had positively thrown down their cards, all were standing up and talking. Even Nikolay Parfenovitch had left the young ladies and run in, looking strenuous and ready for action.
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?”
Nikolay Parfenovitch was even a little bit “fascinated.” He admitted himself, when talking about it afterwards, that only then had he seen “how handsome the woman was,” for, though he had seen her several times before, he had always looked upon her as something of a “provincial hetaira.” “She has the manners of the best society,” he said enthusiastically, gossiping about her in a circle of ladies.
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