Page 683 - the-brothers-karamazov

‘And what then?’
‘Naturally I was whipped. But why do you ask? Have you
stolen something?’
‘I have,’ said Mitya, winking slyly.
‘What have you stolen?’ inquired Pyotr Ilyitch curiously.
‘I stole twenty copecks from my mother when I was nine
years old, and gave it back three days after.’
As he said this, Mitya suddenly got up.
‘Dmitri Fyodorovitch, won’t you come now?’ called An-
drey from the door of the shop.
‘Are you ready? We’ll come!’ Mitya started. ‘A few more
last words and — Andrey, a glass of vodka at starting. Give
him some brandy as well! That box’ (the one with the pis-
tols) ‘put under my seat. Good-bye, Pyotr Ilyitch, don’t
remember evil against me.’
‘But you’re coming back to-morrow?’
‘Will you settle the little bill now?’ cried the clerk, spring-
ing forward.
‘Oh yes, the bill. Of course.’
He pulled the bundle of notes out of his pocket again,
picked out three hundred roubles, threw them on the coun-
ter, and ran hurriedly out of the shop. Everyone followed
him out, bowing and wishing him good luck. Andrey,
coughing from the brandy he had just swallowed, jumped
up on the box. But Mitya was only just taking his seat when
suddenly to his surprise he saw Fenya before him. She ran
up panting, clasped her hands before him with a cry, and
plumped down at his feet.
‘Dmitri Fyodorovitch, dear good Dmitri Fyodorovitch,

The Brothers Karamazov