1 The Brothers Karamazov
‘Yes,’ said the prosecutor thoughtfully, as though reflect-
ing on something.
‘We’ve done what we could in your interest, Dmitri Fy-
odorovitch,’ Nikolay Parfenovitch went on, ‘but having
received from you such an uncompromising refusal to ex-
plain to us the source from which you obtained the money
found upon you, we are, at the present moment-.’
‘What is the stone in your ring?’ Mitya interrupted sud-
denly, as though awakening from a reverie. He pointed to
one of the three large rings adorning Nikolay Parfenovitch’s
right hand.
‘Ring?’ repeated Nikolay Parfenovitch with surprise.
‘Yes, that one... on your middle finger, with the little
veins in it, what stone is that?’ Mitya persisted, like a pee-
vish child.
‘That’s a smoky topaz,’ said Nikolay Parfenovitch, smil-
ing. ‘Would you like to look at it? I’ll take it off..’
‘No, don’t take it off,’ cried Mitya furiously, sudden-
ly waking up, and angry with himself. ‘Don’t take it off...
there’s no need.... Damn it!... Gentlemen, you’ve sullied my
heart! Can you suppose that I would conceal it from you, if
I had really killed my father, that I would shuffle, lie, and
hide myself? No, that’s not like Dmitri Karamazov, that he
couldn’t do, and if I were guilty, I swear I shouldn’t have
waited for your coming, or for the sunrise as I meant at first,
but should have killed myself before this, without waiting
for the dawn! I know that about myself now. I couldn’t have
learnt so much in twenty years as I’ve found out in this ac-
cursed night!... And should I have been like this on this