need you for tomorrow, remember that, don’t forget it!”
“Well, kill me. Kill me now,” Smerdyakov said, all at once looking strangely at Ivan. “You won’t dare do that even!” he added, with a bitter smile. “You won’t dare to do anything, you, who used to be so bold!”
“Till tomorrow,” cried Ivan, and moved to go out.
“Stay a moment. … Show me those notes again.”
Ivan took out the notes and showed them to him. Smerdyakov looked at them for ten seconds.
“Well, you can go,” he said, with a wave of his hand.
“Ivan Fyodorovitch!” he called after him again.
“What do you want?”
Ivan turned without stopping.
“Goodbye!”
“Till tomorrow!” Ivan cried again, and he walked out of the cottage.
The snowstorm was still raging. He walked the first few steps boldly, but suddenly began staggering. > “It’s something physical,” he thought with a grin. Something like