The Brothers Karamazov‘Don’t you want a drink?’
‘I’ll just have a liqueur.... Have you any chocolates?’
‘Yes, there’s a heap of them on the table there. Choose
one, my dear soul!’
‘I like one with vanilla... for old people. He he!
‘No, brother, we’ve none of that special sort.’
‘I say,’ the old man bent down to whisper in Mitya’s ear.
‘That girl there, little Marya, he he! How would it be if you
were to help me make friends with her?’
‘So that’s what you’re after! No, brother, that won’t do!’
‘I’d do no harm to anyone,’ Maximov muttered discon-
solately.
‘Oh, all right, all right. They only come here to dance and
sing, you know, brother. But damn it all, wait a bit!... Eat
and drink and be merry, meanwhile. Don’t you want mon-
ey?’
‘Later on, perhaps,’ smiled Maximov.
‘All right, all right..’
Mitya’s head was burning. He went outside to the wood-
en balcony which ran round the whole building on the inner
side, overlooking the courtyard. The fresh air revived him.
He stood alone in a dark corner, and suddenly clutched his
head in both hands. His scattered thoughts came together;
his sensations blended into a whole and threw a sudden light
into his mind. A fearful and terrible light! ‘If I’m to shoot
myself, why not now?’ passed through his mind. ‘Why not
go for the pistols, bring them here, and here, in this dark
dirty corner, make an end?’ Almost a minute he undecided.
A few hours earlier, when he had been dashing here, he was