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tears. ‘Grusha’s killing me; the thought of her’s killing me,
killing me. She was with me just now..’
‘She told me she was very much grieved by you to-day.’
‘I know. Confound my temper! It was jealousy. I was sorry,
I kissed her as she was going. I didn’t ask her forgiveness.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ exclaimed Alyosha.
Suddenly Mitya laughed almost mirthfully.
‘God preserve you, my dear boy, from ever asking forgive-
ness for a fault from a woman you love. From one you love
especially, however greatly you may have been in fault. For
a woman — devil only knows what to make of a woman! I
know something about them, anyway. But try acknowledg-
ing you are in fault to a woman. Say, ‘I am sorry, forgive me,’
and a shower of reproaches will follow! Nothing will make
her forgive you simply and directly, she’ll humble you to the
dust, bring forward things that have never happened, recall
everything, forget nothing, add something of her own, and
only then forgive you. And even the best, the best of them
do it. She’ll scrape up all the scrapings and load them on
your head. They are ready to flay you alive, I tell you, every
one of them, all these angels without whom we cannot live!
I tell you plainly and openly, dear boy, every decent man
ought to be under some woman’s thumb. That’s my con-
viction — not conviction, but feeling. A man ought to be
magnanimous, and it’s no disgrace to a man! No disgrace
to a hero, not even a Caesar! But don’t ever beg her pardon
all the same for anything. Remember that rule given you
by your brother Mitya, who’s come to ruin through women.
No, I’d better make it up to Grusha somehow, without beg-