old translation … (At it again! again!)”
“And did you understand it?”
“Oh, yes, everything. … That is … Why do you suppose I shouldn’t understand it? There’s a lot of nastiness in it, of course. … Of course I can understand that it’s a philosophical novel and written to advocate an idea. …”
Kolya was getting mixed by now.
“I am a Socialist, Karamazov, I am an incurable Socialist,” he announced suddenly, apropos of nothing.
“A Socialist?” laughed Alyosha. “But when have you had time to become one? Why, I thought you were only thirteen?”
Kolya winced.
“In the first place I am not thirteen, but fourteen, fourteen in a fortnight,” he flushed angrily, “and in the second place I am at a complete loss to understand what my age has to do with it? The question is what are my convictions, not what