Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com ‘This way, my economist, this way, don’t be angry.’ Mitya
drew him into a room at the back of the shop. ‘They’ll give
us a bottle here directly. We’ll taste it. Ech, Pyotr Ilyitch,
come along with me, for you’re a nice fellow, the sort I like.’
Mitya sat down on a wicker chair, before a little table,
covered with a dirty dinner-napkin. Pyotr Ilyitch sat down
opposite, and the champagne soon appeared, and oysters
were suggested to the gentlemen. ‘First-class oysters, the
last lot in.’
‘Hang the oysters. I don’t eat them. And we don’t need
anything,’ cried Pyotr Ilyitch, almost angrily.
‘There’s no time for oysters,’ said Mitya. ‘And I’m not
hungry. Do you know, friend,’ he said suddenly, with feel-
ing, ‘I never have liked all this disorder.’
‘Who does like it? Three dozen of champagne for peas-
ants, upon my word, that’s enough to make anyone angry!’
‘That’s not what I mean. I’m talking of a higher order.
There’s no order in me, no higher order. But... that’s all over.
There’s no need to grieve about it. It’s too late, damn it! My
whole life has been disorder, and one must set it in order. Is
that a pun, eh?’
‘You’re raving, not making puns!
‘Glory be to God in Heaven,
Glory be to God in me...
‘That verse came from my heart once, it’s not a verse, but
a tear.... I made it myself... not while I was pulling the cap-
tain’s beard, though..’
‘Why do you bring him in all of a sudden?’
‘Why do I bring him in? Foolery! All things come to an