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nice, Alyosha?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a craving to destroy something good or,
as you say, to set fire to something. It happens sometimes.’
‘I not only say it, I shall do it.’
‘I believe you.’
‘Ah, how I love you for saying you believe me. And you
are not lying one little bit. But perhaps you think that I am
saying all this on purpose to annoy you?’
‘No, I don’t think that... though perhaps there is a little
desire to do that in it, too.’
‘There is a little. I never can tell lies to you,’ she declared,
with a strange fire in her eyes.
What struck Alyosha above everything was her earnest-
ness. There was not a trace of humour or jesting in her face
now, though, in old days, fun and gaiety never deserted her
even at her most ‘earnest’ moments.
‘There are moments when people love crime,’ said Alyo-
sha thoughtfully.
‘Yes, yes! You have uttered my thought; they love crime,
everyone loves crime, they love it always, not at some ‘mo-
ments.’ You know, it’s as though people have made an
agreement to lie about it and have lied about it ever since.
They all declare that they hate evil, but secretly they all love
it.’
‘And are you still reading nasty books?’
‘Yes, I am. Mamma reads them and hides them under her
pillow and I steal them.’
‘Aren’t you ashamed to destroy yourself?’
‘I want to destroy myself. There’s a boy here, who lay