here. You wrote to Samsonov, and he has sent me to you,” Mitya gasped breathlessly.
“You’re l-lying!” Lyagavy blurted out again.
Mitya’s legs went cold.
“For mercy’s sake! It isn’t a joke! You’re drunk, perhaps. Yet you can speak and understand … or else … I understand nothing!”
“You’re a painter!”
“For mercy’s sake! I’m Karamazov, Dmitri Karamazov. I have an offer to make you, an advantageous offer … very advantageous offer, concerning the copse!”
The peasant stroked his beard importantly.
“No, you’ve contracted for the job and turned out a scamp. You’re a scoundrel!”
“I assure you you’re mistaken,” cried Mitya, wringing his hands in despair. The peasant still stroked his beard, and suddenly screwed up his eyes cunningly.
“No, you show me this: you tell me the law that allows roguery. D’you hear? You’re a scoundrel! Do you understand