“Give me some.”
“I say! You are going it! Why, it’s a regular mutiny, with barricades! Well, my boy, we must make the most of it. Come to my place. … I shouldn’t mind a drop of vodka myself, I am tired to death. Vodka is going too far for you, I suppose … or would you like some?”
“Give me some vodka too.”
“Hullo! You surprise me, brother!” Rakitin looked at him in amazement. “Well, one way or another, vodka or sausage, this is a jolly fine chance and mustn’t be missed. Come along.”
Alyosha got up in silence and followed Rakitin.
“If your little brother Ivan could see this—wouldn’t he be surprised! By the way, your brother Ivan set off to Moscow this morning, did you know?”
“Yes,” answered Alyosha listlessly, and suddenly the image of his brother Dmitri rose before his mind. But only for a minute, and though it reminded him of something that must not be put off for a moment, some duty, some terrible obligation, even that reminder made no impression on him, did not reach his heart and instantly faded out of his mind and was forgotten. But, a long while afterwards, Alyosha remembered this.
“Your brother Ivan declared once that I was a ‘liberal booby with no talents whatsoever.’ Once you, too, could not resist letting me know I was ‘dishonorable.’ Well! I should like to see what your talents and sense of honor will do for you now.” This phrase Rakitin finished to himself in a whisper.