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‘So you thought then, you scoundrel, that together with
Dmitri I meant to kill my father?’
‘I didn’t know what thoughts were in your mind then,’
said Smerdyakov resentfully; ‘and so I stopped you then at
the gate to sound you on that very point.’
‘To sound what, what?’
‘Why, that very circumstance, whether you wanted your
father to be murdered or not.’
What infuriated Ivan more than anything was the ag-
gressive, insolent tone to which Smerdyakov persistently
adhered.
‘It was you murdered him?’ he cried suddenly.
Smerdyakov smiled contemptuously.
‘You know of yourself, for a fact, that it wasn’t I murdered
him. And I should have thought that there was no need for
a sensible man to speak of it again.’
‘But why, why had you such a suspicion about me at the
time?’
‘As you know already, it was simply from fear. For I was
in such a position, shaking with fear, that I suspected ev-
eryone. I resolved to sound you, too, for I thought if you
wanted the same as your brother, then the business was as
good as settled and I should be crushed like a fly, too.’
‘Look here, you didn’t say that a fortnight ago.’
‘I meant the same when I talked to you in the hospital,
only I thought you’d understand without wasting words,
and that being such a sensible man you wouldn’t care to
talk of it openly.’
‘What next! Come answer, answer, I insist: what was it...