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out having to depend on anyone- that’s what you care most
about. You won’t want to spoil your life for ever by taking
such a disgrace on yourself. You are like Fyodor Pavlovitch,
you are more like him than any of his children; you’ve the
same soul as he had.’
‘You are not a fool,’ said Ivan, seeming struck. The blood
rushed to his face. ‘You are serious now!’ he observed, look-
ing suddenly at Smerdyakov with a different expression.
‘It was your pride made you think I was a fool. Take the
money.’
Ivan took the three rolls of notes and put them in his
pocket without wrapping them in anything.
‘I shall show them at the court to-morrow,’ he said.
‘Nobody will believe you, as you’ve plenty of money of
your own; you may simply have taken it out of your cash-
box and brought it to the court.’
Ivan rose from his seat.
‘I repeat,’ he said, ‘the only reason I haven’t killed you is
that I need you for to-morrow, remember that, don’t forget
it!’
‘Well, kill me. Kill me now,’ Smerdyakov said, all at once
looking strangely at Ivan. ‘You won’t dare do that even!’ he
added, with a bitter smile. ‘You won’t dare to do anything,
you, who used to be so bold!’
‘Till to-morrow,’ cried Ivan, and moved to go out.
‘Stay a moment.... Show me those notes again.’
Ivan took out the notes and showed them to him.
Smerdyakov looked at them for ten seconds.
‘Well, you can go,’ he said, with a wave of his hand. ‘Ivan

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