“I don’t know; he is such a flirt.”
Karmazinov detested Stavrogin because it was the latter’s habit not to take any notice of him.
“That flirt,” he said, chuckling, “if what is advocated in your manifestoes ever comes to pass, will be the first to be hanged.”
“Perhaps before,” Pyotr Stepanovitch said suddenly.
“Quite right too,” Karmazinov assented, not laughing, and with pronounced gravity.
“You have said so once before, and, do you know, I repeated it to him.”
“What, you surely didn’t repeat it?” Karmazinov laughed again.
“He said that if he were to be hanged it would be enough for you to be flogged, not simply as a complement but to hurt, as they flog the peasants.”
Pyotr Stepanovitch took his hat and got up from his seat. Karmazinov held out both hands to him at parting.
“And what if all that you are … plotting for is destined to come to pass …” he piped suddenly, in a honeyed voice with a peculiar intonation, still holding his hands in his. “How soon could it come about?”