“I am going away to Moscow tomorrow, if you care to know—early tomorrow morning. That’s all!” he suddenly said aloud angrily, and wondered himself afterwards what need there was to say this then to Smerdyakov.
“That’s the best thing you can do,” he responded, as though he had expected to hear it; “except that you can always be telegraphed for from Moscow, if anything should happen here.”
Ivan stopped again, and again turned quickly to Smerdyakov. But a change had passed over him, too. All his familiarity and carelessness had completely disappeared. His face expressed attention and expectation, intent but timid and cringing.
“Haven’t you something more to say—something to add?” could be read in the intent gaze he fixed on Ivan.
“And couldn’t I be sent for from Tchermashnya, too—in case anything happened?” Ivan shouted suddenly, for some unknown reason raising his