I am!”
She waved her hand with a look of repulsion.
“It’s your luxurious life,” said Alyosha, softly.
“Is it better, then, to be poor?”
“Yes, it is better.”
“That’s what your monk taught you. That’s not true. Let me be rich and all the rest poor, I’ll eat sweets and drink cream and not give any to anyone else. Ach, don’t speak, don’t say anything,” she shook her hand at him, though Alyosha had not opened his mouth. “You’ve told me all that before, I know it all by heart. It bores me. If I am ever poor, I shall murder somebody, and even if I am rich, I may murder someone, perhaps—why do nothing! But do you know, I should like to reap, cut the rye? I’ll marry you, and you shall become a peasant, a real peasant; we’ll keep a colt, shall we? Do you know Kalganov?”