The Brothers Karamazov

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master himself, I mean, Fyodor Pavlovitch — if only she
cares to, and of course she may care to. All I’ve said is that
she won’t come, but maybe she’s looking for more than that
— I mean to be mistress here. I know myself that Samsonov,
her merchant, was laughing with her about it, telling her
quite openly that it would not be at all a stupid thing to do.
And she’s got plenty of sense. She wouldn’t marry a beggar
like Dmitri Fyodorovitch. So, taking that into consider-
ation, Ivan Fyodorovitch, reflect that then neither Dmitri
Fyodorovitch nor yourself and your brother, Alexey Fyodo-
rovitch, would have anything after the master’s death, not a
rouble, for Agrafena Alexandrovna would marry him sim-
ply to get hold of the whole, all the money there is. But if
your father were to die now, there’d be some forty thousand
for sure, even for Dmitri Fyodorovitch whom he hates so,
for he’s made no will.... Dmitri Fyodorovitch knows all that
very well.’
A sort of shudder passed over Ivan’s face. He suddenly
flushed.
‘Then why on earth,’ he suddenly interrupted Smerdya-
kov, ‘do you advise me to go to Tchermashnya? What did
you mean by that? If I go away, you see what will happen
here.’ Ivan drew his breath with difficulty.
‘Precisely so,’ said Smerdyakov, softly and reasonably,
watching Ivan intently, however.
‘What do you mean by ‘precisely so’?’ Ivan questioned
him, with a menacing light in his eyes, restraining himself
with difficulty.
‘I spoke because I felt sorry for you. If I were in your place

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