“Well, you are a fellow,” Fyodor Pavlovitch said again.
After a pause of two minutes, looking askance at his son, “Why, it was you got up all this monastery business. You urged it, you approved of it. Why are you angry now?”
“You’ve talked rot enough. You might rest a bit now,” Ivan snapped sullenly.
Fyodor Pavlovitch was silent again for two minutes.
“A drop of brandy would be nice now,” he observed sententiously, but Ivan made no response.
“You shall have some, too, when we get home.”
Ivan was still silent.
Fyodor Pavlovitch waited another two minutes.
“But I shall take Alyosha away from the monastery, though you will dislike it so much, most honored Karl von Moor.”
Ivan shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and turning away stared at the road. And they did not speak again all the way home.