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gan again with nervous haste. ‘I was laughing, telling Mitya
about it. ‘Fancy,’ I said, ‘my Pole had the happy thought to
sing his old songs to me to the guitar. He thought I would
be touched and marry him!’ Mitya leapt up swearing....
So, there, I’ll send them the pies! Fenya, is it that little girl
they’ve sent? Here, give her three roubles and pack up a
dozen pies in a paper and tell her to take them. And you,
Alyosha, be sure to tell Mitya that I did send them the pies.’
‘I wouldn’t tell him for anything,’ said Alyosha, smiling.
‘Ech! You think he is unhappy about it. Why, he’s jealous
on purpose. He doesn’t care,’ said Grushenka bitterly.
‘On purpose?’ queried Alyosha.
‘I tell you you are silly, Alyosha. You know nothing about
it, with all your cleverness. I am not offended that he is
jealous of a girl like me. I would be offended if he were not
jealous. I am like that. I am not offended at jealousy. I have a
fierce heart, too. I can be jealous myself. Only what offends
me is that he doesn’t love me at all. I tell you he is jealous
now on purpose. Am I blind? Don’t I see? He began talking
to me just now of that woman, of Katerina, saying she was
this and that, how she had ordered a doctor from Moscow
for him, to try and save him; how she had ordered the best
counsel, the most learned one, too. So he loves her, if he’ll
praise her to my face, more shame to him! He’s treated me
badly himself, so he attacked me, to make out I am in fault
first and to throw it all on me. ‘You were with your Pole
before me, so I can’t be blamed for Katerina,’ that’s what it
amounts to. He wants to throw the whole blame on me. He
attacked me on purpose, on purpose, I tell you, but I’ll-.’