ey, that she
hoarded it, and lent it at a wicked rate of interest, that she's a
merciless cheat and swindler. I went to beat her, and I stayed. The storm
broke--it struck me down like the plague. I'm plague-stricken still, and I
know that everything is over, that there will never be anything more for
me. The cycle of the ages is accomplished. That's my position. And though
I'm a beggar, as fate would have it, I had three thousand just then in my
pocket. I drove with Grushenka to Mokroe, a place twenty-five versts from
here. I got gypsies there and champagne and made all the peasants there
drunk on it, and all the women and girls. I sent the thousands flying. In
three days' time I was stripped bare, but a hero. Do you suppose the hero
had gained his end? Not a sign of it from her. I tell you that rogue,
Grushenka, has a supple curve all over her body. You can see it in her
little foot, even in her little toe. I saw it, and kissed it, but that was
all, I swear! 'I'll marry you if you like,' she said, 'you're a beggar,
you know. Say that you won't beat me, and will let me do anything I
choose, and perhaps I will marry you.' She laughed, and she's laughing
still!"

Dmitri leapt up with a sort of fury. He seemed all at once as though he
were drunk. His eyes became suddenly bloodshot.

"And do you really mean to marry her?"

"At once, if she will. And if she won't, I shall stay all the same. I'll
be the porter at her gate. Alyosha!" he cried. He stopped short before
him, and taking him by the shoulders began shaking him violently. "Do you
know, you innocent boy, that this is all delirium, senseless delirium, for
there's a tragedy here. Let me tell you, Alexey, that I may be a low man,
with low and degraded passions, but a thief and a pickpocket Dmitri
Karamazov never can be. Well, then; let me tell you that I am a thief and
a pickpocket. That very morning, just before I went to beat Grushenka,
Katerina Ivanovna sent for me, and in strict secrecy (why I don't know, I
suppose she had some reason) asked me to go to the chief town of the
province and to post three thousand roubles to Agafya Ivanovna in Moscow,
so that nothing should be known of it in the town here. So I had that
three thousand roubles in my pocket when I went to see Grushenka, and it
was that money we spent at Mokroe. Afterwards I pretended I had been to
the town, but did not show her the post office receipt. I said I had sent
the money and would bring the rece