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speaking to you like this,’ he added.
‘I can’t behave to her as I ought — break off altogether
and tell her so straight out,’ said Ivan, irritably. ‘I must wait
till sentence is passed on the murderer. If I break off with her
now, she will avenge herself on me by ruining that scoun-
drel to-morrow at the trial, for she hates him and knows
she hates him. It’s all a lie — lie upon lie! As long as I don’t
break off with her, she goes on hoping, and she won’t ruin
that monster, knowing how I want to get him out of trouble.
If only that damned verdict would come!’
The words ‘murderer’ and ‘monster’ echoed painfully in
Alyosha’s heart.
‘But how can she ruin Mitya?’ he asked, pondering on
Ivan’s words. ‘What evidence can she give that would ruin
Mitya?’
‘You don’t know that yet. She’s got a document in her
hands, in Mitya’s own writing, that proves conclusively that
he did murder Fyodor Pavlovitch.’
‘That’s impossible!’ cried Alyosha.
‘Why is it impossible? I’ve read it myself.’
‘There can’t be such a document!’ Alyosha repeated
warmly. ‘There can’t be, because he’s not the murderer. It’s
not he murdered father, not he!’
Ivan suddenly stopped.
‘Who is the murderer then, according to you?’ he asked,
with apparent coldness. There was even a supercilious note
in his voice.
‘You know who,’ Alyosha pronounced in a low, penetrat-
ing voice.