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FÉDYA [Hides it in his pocket, and wishes to pass out, but sees
Petushkóv] Stupid! Vile! Dreary, dreary! Senseless. [Wishes to pass].
Enter Counsel Petrúshin; stout, red, and animated. He approaches
Fédya.
PETRÚSHIN. Well, friend! Our affairs are going well--only don't you go
and spoil things for me in your last speech!
FÉDYA. I won't speak. What is the use? I shan't do it.
PETRÚSHIN. Yes, you must speak. But don't be excited. The whole matter
is now in a nutshell! Only tell them what you told me--that if you are
being tried, it is only for not having committed suicide: that is, for
not doing what is considered a crime both by civil and ecclesiastical
law.
FÉDYA. I shan't say anything!
PETRÚSHIN. Why not?
FÉDYA. I don't want to, and shan't. Tell me only, at the worst, what
will it be?
PETRÚSHIN. I have already told you--at worst, exile to Siberia.
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