“I imagine one can’t see oneself clearly in such circumstances,” Alyosha answered with surprise.

“The money was mine, it was my money,” Mitya kept repeating. “Even if I had stolen it, I should have had the right.”

“As for the murder, you couldn’t have done that and didn’t want to, but as for wanting some one else to do it, that was just what you did want.”

“Ach, Vanka’s gone to Petersburg;
I won’t wait till he comes back.”

“If I am like you in my way of thinking, it’s all to my credit,” the gentleman declared, with delicacy and dignity.

“Brother,” Alyosha interposed, “restrain yourself. It was not you murdered him. It’s not true!”

Everybody was excited at the presence of the celebrated lawyer, Fetyukovitch.

Grigory looked blankly at the questioner, and after a brief silence muttered, “There was saffron in it.”

“He spoke to me once of his hatred for our father and his fear that at an extreme moment ... at a moment of fury, he might perhaps murder him.”

He turned to the prosecutor and the counsel for the defense to invite them to examine the witness, if necessary, when Ivan suddenly asked in an exhausted voice: