“To father?”
“Yes, to father first. Ask him for three thousand.”
“But, Mitya, he won’t give it.”
“As though he would! I know he won’t. Do you know the meaning of despair, Alexey?”
“Yes.”
“Listen. Legally he owes me nothing. I’ve had it all from him, I know that. But morally he owes me something, doesn’t he? You know he started with twenty-eight thousand of my mother’s money and made a hundred thousand with it. Let him give me back only three out of the twenty-eight thousand, and he’ll draw my soul out of hell, and it will atone for many of his sins. For that three thousand—I give you my solemn word—I’ll make an end of everything, and he shall hear nothing more of me. For the last time I give him the chance to be a father. Tell him God Himself sends him this chance.”
“Mitya, he won’t give it for anything.”
“I know he won’t. I know it perfectly well. Now, especially. That’s not all. I know something more. Now, only a few days ago, perhaps only yesterday he found out for the first time in earnest (underline in earnest ) that Grushenka is really perhaps not joking, and really means