spoil your life forever by taking such a disgrace on yourself. You are like Fyodor Pavlovitch, you are more like him than any of his children; you’ve the same soul as he had.”
“You are not a fool,” said Ivan, seeming struck. The blood rushed to his face. “You are serious now!” he observed, looking suddenly at Smerdyakov with a different expression.
“It was your pride made you think I was a fool. Take the money.”
Ivan took the three rolls of notes and put them in his pocket without wrapping them in anything.
“I shall show them at the court tomorrow,” he said.
“Nobody will believe you, as you’ve plenty of money of your own; you may simply have taken it out of your cashbox and brought it to the court.”
Ivan rose from his seat.
“I repeat,” he said, “the only reason I haven’t killed you is that I