This time Peter Ivanovitch
moved his head sideways, knowingly, as much as to say, "Don't I?" This
expressive movement was almost imperceptible. Razumov went on in secret
derision--
"All these days you have been trying to read me, Peter Ivanovitch. That
is natural. I have perceived it and I have been frank. Perhaps you may
think I have not been very expansive? But with a man like you it was not
needed; it would have looked like an impertinence, perhaps. And besides,
we Russians are prone to talk too much as a rule. I have always felt
that. And yet, as a nation, we are dumb. I assure you that I am not
likely to talk to you so much again--ha! ha!--"
Razumov, still keeping on the lower step, came a little nearer to the
great man.
"You have been condescending enough. I quite understood it was to lead
me on. You must render me the justice that I have not tried to please. I
have been impelled, compelled, or rather sent--let us say sent--towards
you for a work that no one but myself can do. You would call it a
harmless delusion: a ridiculous delusion at which you don't even smile.
It is absurd of me to talk like this, yet some day you shall remember
these words, I hope. Enough of this. Here I stand before you-confessed!
But one thing more I must add to complete it: a mere blind tool I can
never consent to be.
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