“But how could he steal, rob? How could he dream of it?” cried Dounia, and she jumped up from the chair. “Why, you know him, and you’ve seen him, can he be a thief?”

She seemed to be imploring Svidrigaïlov; she had entirely forgotten her fear.

“There are thousands and millions of combinations and possibilities, Avdotya Romanovna. A thief steals and knows he is a scoundrel, but I’ve heard of a gentleman who broke open the mail. Who knows, very likely he thought he was doing a gentlemanly thing! Of course I should not have believed it myself if I’d been told of it as you have, but I believe my own ears. He explained all the causes of it to Sofya Semyonovna too, but she did not believe her ears at first, yet she believed her own eyes at last.”

“What⁠ ⁠… were the causes?”