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just insulted him, what a fine fellow he is on the other hand,
and how he will pay that scoundrel out; and all that at great
length, with great excitement and incoherence, with drunk-
en tears and blows on the table. The letter was written on a
dirty piece of ordinary paper of the cheapest kind. It had
been provided by the tavern and there were figures scrawled
on the back of it. There was evidently not space enough for
his drunken verbosity and Mitya not only filled the mar-
gins but had written the last line right across the rest. The
letter ran as follows:
FATAL KATYA: To-morrow I will get the money and
repay your three thousand and farewell, woman of great
wrath, but farewell, too, my love! Let us make an end! To-
morrow I shall try and get it from everyone, and if I can’t
borrow it, I give you my word of honour I shall go to my fa-
ther and break his skull and take the money from under the
pillow, if only Ivan has gone. It I have to go to Siberia for it,
I’ll give you back your three thousand. And farewell. I bow
down to the ground before you, for I’ve been a scoundrel to
you. Forgive me! No, better not forgive me, you’ll be hap-
pier and so shall I! Better Siberia than your love, for I love
another woman and you got to know her too well to-day, so
how can you forgive? I will murder the man who’s robbed
me! I’ll leave you all and go to the East so as to see no one
again. Not her either, for you are not my only tormentress;
she is too. Farewel!
P.S. — I write my curse, but I adore you! I hear it in my
heart. One string is left, and it vibrates. Better tear my heart
in two! I shall kill myself, but first of all that cur. I shall tear