soaping them thoroughly and rubbing them more. He seemed to exercise more and more sway over Mitya, as time went on. It may be noted in passing that he was a young man of sturdy character.
“Look, you haven’t got your nails clean. Now rub your face; here, on your temples, by your ear. … Will you go in that shirt? Where are you going? Look, all the cuff of your right sleeve is covered with blood.”
“Yes, it’s all bloody,” observed Mitya, looking at the cuff of his shirt.
“Then change your shirt.”
“I haven’t time. You see I’ll …” Mitya went on with the same confiding ingenuousness, drying his face and hands on the towel, and putting on his coat.
“I’ll turn it up at the wrist. It won’t be seen under the coat. … You see!”
“Tell