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ten-rouble note to Misha.
‘Don’t dare to do such a thing!’ cried Pyotr Ilyitch. ‘I
won’t have it in my house, it’s a bad, demoralising habit. Put
your money away. Here, put it here, why waste it? It would
come in handy to-morrow, and I dare say you’ll be coming
to me to borrow ten roubles again. Why do you keep put-
ting the notes in your side pocket? Ah, you’ll lose them!’
‘I say, my dear fellow, let’s go to Mokroe together.’
‘What should I go for?’
‘I say, let’s open a bottle at once, and drink to life! I want
to drink, and especially to drink with you. I’ve never drunk
with you, have I?’
‘Very well, we can go to the Metropolis. I was just going
there.’
‘I haven’t time for that. Let’s drink at the Plotnikovs’, in
the back room. Shall I ask you a riddle?’
‘Ask away.’
Mitya took the piece of paper out of his waistcoat pock-
et, unfolded it and showed it. In a large, distinct hand was
written: ‘I punish myself for my whole life; my whole life I
punish!’
‘I will certainly speak to someone. I’ll go at once,’ said
Pyotr Ilyitch, after reading the paper.
‘You won’t have time, dear boy, come and have a drink.
March!’
Plotnikov’s shop was at the corner of the street, next door
but one to Pyotr Ilyitch’s. It was the largest grocery shop in
our town, and by no means a bad one, belonging to some
rich merchants. They kept everything that could be got in