The Brothers Karamazov
I should simply throw it all up... rather than stay on in such
a position,’ answered Smerdyakov, with the most candid air
looking at Ivan’s flashing eyes. They were both silent.
‘You seem to be a perfect idiot, and what’s more... an aw-
ful scoundrel, too.’ Ivan rose suddenly from the bench. He
was about to pass straight through the gate, but he stopped
short and turned to Smerdyakov. Something strange fol-
lowed. Ivan, in a sudden paroxysm, bit his lip, clenched his
fists, and, in another minute, would have flung himself on
Smerdyakov. The latter, anyway, noticed it at the same mo-
ment, started, and shrank back. But the moment passed
without mischief to Smerdyakov, and Ivan turned in silence,
as it seemed in perplexity, to the gate.
‘I am going away to Moscow to-morrow, if you care to
know — early to-morrow morning. That’s all!’ he suddenly
said aloud angrily, and wondered himself afterwards what
need there was to say this then to Smerdyakov.
‘That’s the best thing you can do,’ he responded, as
though he had expected to hear it; ‘except that you can al-
ways be telegraphed for from Moscow, if anything should
happen here.’
Ivan stopped again, and again turned quickly to
Smerdyakov. But a change had passed over him, too. All
his familiarity and carelessnes had completely disappeared.
His face expressed attention and expectation, intent but
timid and cringing.
‘Haven’t you something more to say — something to
add?’ could be read in the intent gaze he fixed on Ivan.
‘And couldn’t I be sent for from Tchermashnya, too — in