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As soon as I got back to town I pledged them.” “You got back to town? Then you had been out of town?” “Yes, I went a journey of forty versts into the country. Didn’t you know?” The prosecutor and Nikolay Parfenovitch exchanged glances. “Well, how would it be if you began your story with a systematic description of all you did yesterday, from the morning onwards?
Karamazov, that it is of vital importance for us to know,” said Nikolay Parfenovitch, softly and suavely. “I understand; but still I won’t tell you.” The prosecutor, too, intervened, and again reminded the prisoner that he was at liberty to refuse to answer questions, if he thought it to his interest, and so on.
“So now you can build up your tower,” Mitya broke off, and again turned away from them contemptuously. “So no one knew of the signals but your dead father, you, and the valet Smerdyakov? And no one else?” Nikolay Parfenovitch inquired once more. “Yes. The valet Smerdyakov, and Heaven. Write down about Heaven. That may be of use. Besides, you will need God yourselves.”
Nikolay Parfenovitch was too well pleased with them, as it was, and did not want to worry them with trifles, moreover, it was nothing but a foolish, drunken quarrel over cards. There had been drinking and disorder enough, that night.... So the two hundred roubles remained in the pockets of the Poles. Then old Maximov was summoned.
Mitya spoke much and quickly, nervously and effusively, as though he positively took his listeners to be his best friends. “So, for the present, we will write that you absolutely deny the charge brought against you,” said Nikolay Parfenovitch, impressively, and bending down to the secretary he dictated to him in an undertone what to write. “Write it down? You want to write that down?
All that and all my previous conversation with you at the gate the evening before, when I told you how frightened I was and spoke of the cellar, I told all that to Doctor Herzenstube and Nikolay Parfenovitch, the investigating lawyer, and it’s all been written down in the protocol. And the doctor here, Mr.
The interrogation began again. “You don’t know how you encourage us, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, by your readiness to answer,” said Nikolay Parfenovitch, with an animated air, and obvious satisfaction beaming in his very prominent, short-sighted, light gray eyes, from which he had removed his spectacles a moment before. “And you have made a very just remark about the mutual confidence, without which it is sometimes positively impossible to get on in cases of such importance, if the suspected party really hopes and desires to defend himself and is in a position to do so.
“Don’t trouble yourself. We will tell you what to do,” Nikolay Parfenovitch said, and his voice was positively peremptory, or so it seemed to Mitya. Meantime a consultation was going on in undertones between the lawyers. There turned out to be on the coat, especially on the left side at the back, a huge patch of blood, dry, and still stiff. There were bloodstains on the trousers, too.
“Certainly, but considering ... in fact, now it’s impossible except in the presence of—” “Oh, well, if it must be so, it must!” Grushenka was brought in, but the farewell was brief, and of few words, and did not at all satisfy Nikolay Parfenovitch. Grushenka made a deep bow to Mitya. “I have told you I am yours, and I will be yours. I will follow you for ever, wherever they may send you.
“He understands that, and is sorry ... I mean, not sorry to lend you his clothes, but sorry about all this business,” mumbled Nikolay Parfenovitch. “Confound his sorrow! Well, where now? Am I to go on sitting here?” He was asked to go back to the “other room.” Mitya went in, scowling with anger, and trying to avoid looking at any one.
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