“The idea had arisen in the society,” he went on in the same voice, “that I might be of use if I killed myself, and that when you get up some bit of mischief here, and they are looking for the guilty, I might suddenly shoot myself and leave a letter saying I did it all, so that you might escape suspicion for another year.”
“For a few days, anyway; one day is precious.”
“Good. So for that reason they asked me, if I would, to wait. I said I’d wait till the society fixed the day, because it makes no difference to me.”
“Yes, but remember that you bound yourself not to make up your last letter without me and that in Russia you would be at my … well, at my disposition, that is for that purpose only. I need hardly say, in everything else, of course, you are free,” Pyotr Stepanovitch added almost amiably.
“I didn’t bind myself, I agreed, because it makes no difference to me.”
“Good, good. I have no intention of wounding your vanity, but …”
“It’s not a question of vanity.”
“But remember that a hundred and twenty thalers were collected for your journey, so you’ve taken money.”
“Not at all.” Kirillov fired up. “The money was not on that condition. One doesn’t take money for that.”
“People sometimes do.”