come back to him for an instant.
“Stay”—he got up from the sofa—“an hour ago I took that new towel from there and wetted it. I wrapped it round my head and threw it down here … How is it it’s dry? There was no other.”
“You put that towel on your head?” asked Alyosha.
“Yes, and walked up and down the room an hour ago … Why have the candles burnt down so? What’s the time?”
“Nearly twelve.”
“No, no, no!” Ivan cried suddenly. “It was not a dream. He was here; he was sitting here, on that sofa. When you knocked at the window, I threw a glass at him … this one. Wait a minute. I was asleep last time, but this dream was not a dream. It has happened before. I have dreams now, Alyosha … yet they are not dreams, but reality. I walk about, talk and see … though I am asleep. But he was sitting here, on that sofa there. … He is frightfully stupid, Alyosha, frightfully stupid.” Ivan laughed suddenly and began pacing about the room.
“Who is stupid? Of whom are you talking, brother?” Alyosha asked anxiously again.
“The devil! He’s taken to visiting me. He’s been here twice, almost three times. He taunted me with being angry at his being a simple devil and not Satan, with scorched wings, in thunder and lightning. But he is not Satan: that’s a lie. He is an impostor. He is simply a devil—a paltry, trivial devil. He goes to the baths. If you undressed him, you’d be sure to find he had a tail, long and smooth like a Danish dog’s, a yard long, dun color. … Alyosha, you are cold. You’ve been in the snow. Would you like some tea? What? Is it cold? Shall