The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky (i love reading books .txt) 📕

But Grushenka waved her handkerchief at him and drove him away.

“Sh-h! Mitya, why don’t they come? Let everyone come⁠ ⁠… to look on. Call them in, too, that were locked in.⁠ ⁠… Why did you lock them in? Tell them I’m going to dance. Let them look on, too.⁠ ⁠…”

Mitya walked with a drunken swagger to the locked door, and began knocking to the Poles with his fist.

“Hi, you⁠ ⁠… Podvysotskys! Come, she’s going to dance. She calls you.”

“Łajdak!” one of the Poles shouted in reply.

“You’re a łajdak yourself! You’re a little scoundrel, that’s what you are.”

“Leave off laughing at Poland,” said Kalganov sententiously. He too was drunk.

“Be quiet, boy! If I call him a scoundrel, it doesn’t mean that I called all Poland so. One łajdak doesn’t make a Poland. Be quiet, my pretty boy, eat a sweetmeat.”

“Ach, what fellows! As though they were not men. Why won’t they make friends?” said Grushenka, and went forward to dance. The chorus broke into “Ah, my porch, my new porch!” Grushenka flung back her head, half opened her lips, smiled, waved her handkerchief, and suddenly, with a violent lurch, stood still in the middle of the room, looking bewildered.

“I’m weak.⁠ ⁠…” she said in an exhausted voice. “Forgive me.⁠ ⁠… I’m weak, I can’t.⁠ ⁠… I’m sorry.”

She bowed to the chorus, and then began bowing in all directions.

“I’m sorry.⁠ ⁠… Forgive me.⁠ ⁠…”

“The lady’s been drinking. The pretty lady has been drinking,” voices were heard saying.

“The lady’s drunk too much,” Maximov explained to the girls, giggling.

“Mitya, lead me away⁠ ⁠… take me,” said Grushenka helplessly. Mitya pounced on her, snatched her up in his arms, and carried the precious burden through the curtains.

“Well, now I’ll go,” thought Kalganov, and walking out of the blue room, he closed the two halves of the door after him. But the orgy in the larger room went on and grew louder and louder. Mitya laid Grushenka on the bed and kissed her on the lips.

“Don’t touch me.⁠ ⁠…” she faltered, in an imploring voice. “Don’t touch me, till I’m yours.⁠ ⁠… I’ve told you I’m yours, but don’t touch me⁠ ⁠… spare me.⁠ ⁠… With them here, with them close, you mustn’t. He’s here. It’s nasty here.⁠ ⁠…”

“I’ll obey you! I won’t think of it⁠ ⁠… I worship you!” muttered Mitya. “Yes, it’s nasty here, it’s abominable.”

And still holding her in his arms, he sank on his knees by the bedside.

“I know, though you’re a brute, you’re generous,” Grushenka articulated with difficulty. “It must be honorable⁠ ⁠… it shall be honorable for the future⁠ ⁠… and let us be honest, let us be good, not brutes, but good⁠ ⁠… take me away, take me far away, do you hear? I don’t want it to be here, but far, far away.⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh, yes, yes, it must be!” said Mitya, pressing her in his arms. “I’ll take you and we’ll fly away.⁠ ⁠… Oh, I’d give my whole life for one year only to know about that blood!”

“What blood?” asked Grushenka, bewildered.

“Nothing,” muttered Mitya, through his teeth. “Grusha, you wanted to be honest, but I’m a thief. But I’ve stolen money from Katya.⁠ ⁠… Disgrace, a disgrace!”

“From Katya, from that young lady? No, you didn’t steal it. Give it her back, take it from me.⁠ ⁠… Why make a fuss? Now everything of mine is yours. What does money matter? We shall waste it anyway.⁠ ⁠… Folks like us are bound to waste money. But we’d better go and work the land. I want to dig the earth with my own hands. We must work, do you hear? Alyosha said so. I won’t be your mistress, I’ll be faithful to you, I’ll be your slave, I’ll work for you. We’ll go to the young lady and bow down to her together, so that she may forgive us, and then we’ll go away. And if she won’t forgive us, we’ll go, anyway. Take her her money and love me.⁠ ⁠… Don’t love her.⁠ ⁠… Don’t love her any more. If you love her, I shall strangle her.⁠ ⁠… I’ll put out both her eyes with a needle.⁠ ⁠…”

“I love you. I love only you. I’ll love you in Siberia.⁠ ⁠…”

“Why Siberia? Never mind, Siberia, if you like. I don’t care⁠ ⁠… we’ll work⁠ ⁠… there’s snow in Siberia.⁠ ⁠… I love driving in the snow⁠ ⁠… and must have bells.⁠ ⁠… Do you hear, there’s a bell ringing? Where is that bell ringing? There are people coming.⁠ ⁠… Now it’s stopped.”

She closed her eyes, exhausted, and suddenly fell asleep for an instant. There had certainly been the sound of a bell in the distance, but the ringing had ceased. Mitya let his head sink on her breast. He did not notice that the bell had ceased ringing, nor did he notice that the songs had ceased, and that instead of singing and drunken clamor there was absolute stillness in the house. Grushenka opened her eyes.

“What’s the matter? Was I asleep? Yes⁠ ⁠… a bell⁠ ⁠… I’ve been asleep and dreamt I was driving over the snow with bells, and I dozed. I was with someone I loved, with you. And far, far away. I was holding you and kissing you, nestling close to you. I was cold, and the snow glistened.⁠ ⁠… You know how the snow glistens at night when the moon shines. It was as though I was not on earth. I woke up, and my dear one is close to me. How sweet that is!⁠ ⁠…”

“Close to you,” murmured Mitya, kissing her dress, her bosom, her hands. And suddenly he had a strange fancy: it seemed to him that she was looking straight before her, not at him, not into his face, but over his head, with an intent, almost uncanny fixity. An expression of wonder, almost of alarm, came suddenly into her face.

“Mitya, who is that looking at us?” she whispered.

Mitya turned, and saw that someone had, in fact, parted the curtains and seemed to be watching them. And not one person alone, it seemed.

He jumped up and walked quickly to the intruder.

“Here, come to us,