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He suddenly determined to go to Samsonov, the merchant who was Grushenka’s protector, and to propose a “scheme” to him, and by means of it to obtain from him at once the whole of the sum required.
He heard a piercing wail from an old woman whom he had almost knocked down. “Good Lord, you’ve nearly killed me! Why don’t you look where you’re going, scapegrace?” “Why, it’s you!” cried Mitya, recognizing the old woman in the dark. It was the old servant who waited on Samsonov, whom Mitya had particularly noticed the day before.
“Why, the man’s drunk, dead drunk, and he’ll go on drinking now for a week; what’s the use of waiting here? And what if Samsonov sent me here on purpose? What if she—? Oh, God, what have I done?” The peasant sat watching him and grinning. Another time Mitya might have killed the fool in a fury, but now he felt as weak as a child.
Whether it was the “captain’s” excited face, or the foolish conviction of the “rake and spendthrift,” that he, Samsonov, could be taken in by such a cock-and-bull story as his scheme, or his jealousy of Grushenka, in whose name this “scapegrace” had rushed in on him with such a tale to get money which worked on the old man, I can’t tell.
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