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‘It’s utterly impossible, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. You must
take off your clothes.’
‘As you like,’ Mitya submitted gloomily; ‘only, please, not
here, but behind the curtains. Who will search them?’
‘Behind the curtains, of course.’
Nikolay Parfenovitch bent his head in assent. His small
face wore an expression of peculiar solemnity.
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