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‘What is it, Kolya?’ said Alyosha.
‘Is your brother innocent or guilty? Was it he killed your
father or was it the valet? As you say, so it will be. I haven’t
slept for the last four nights for thinking of it.’
‘The valet killed him, my brother is innocent,’ answered
Alyosha.
‘That’s what I said,’ cried Smurov.
‘So he will perish an innocent victim!’ exclaimed Kolya;
‘though he is ruined he is happy! I could envy him!’
‘What do you mean? How can you? Why?’ cried Alyosha
surprised.
‘Oh, if I, too, could sacrifice myself some day for truth!’
said Kolya with enthusiasm.
‘But not in such a cause, not with such disgrace and such
horrer!’ said Alyosha.
‘Of course... I should like to die for all humanity, and as
for disgrace, I don’t care about that — our names may per-
ish. I respect your brother!’
‘And so do I!’ the boy, who had once declared that he
knew who had founded Troy, cried suddenly and unexpect-
edly, and he blushed up to his ears like a peony as he had
done on that occasion.
Alyosha went into the room. Ilusha lay with his hands
folded and his eyes closed in a blue coffin with a white frill
round it. His thin face was hardly changed at all, and strange
to say there was no smell of decay from the corpse. The ex-
pression of his face was serious and, as it were, thoughtful.
His hands, crossed over his breast, looked particularly beau-
tiful, as though chiselled in marble. There were flowers in