such trifles. He hurried, striding along, and only when he reached Suhoy Possyolok he realised that they had come not one verst, nor one and a half, but at least three. This annoyed him, but he controlled himself.
They went into the hut. The forester lived in one half of the hut, and Gorstkin was lodging in the other, the better room the other side of the passage. They went into that room and lighted a tallow candle. The hut was extremely overheated. On the table there was a samovar that had gone out, a tray with cups, an empty rum bottle, a bottle of vodka partly full, and some half eaten crusts of wheaten bread. The visitor himself lay stretched at full length on the bench, with his coat crushed up under his head for a pillow, snoring heavily. Mitya stood in perplexity.
Of course I must wake him. My business is too important. Ive come in such haste. Im in a hurry to get back to-day, he said in great agitation. But the priest and the forester stood in silence, not giving their opinion. Mitya went up and began trying to wake him himself; he tried vigorously, but the sleeper did not wake.
Hes drunk, Mitya decided. Good Lord! What am I to do? What am I to do? And, terribly impatient, he began pulling him by the arms, by the legs, shaking his head, lifting him up and making him sit on the bench. Yet, after prolonged exertions, he could only succeed in getting the drunken man to utter absurd grunts, and violent, but inarticulate oaths.
No, youd better wait a little, the priest pronounced at last, for hes obviously not in a fit state.
Hes been drinking the whole day, the forester chimed in.
Good Heavens! cried Mitya. If only you knew how important it is to me and how desperate I am!
No, youd better wait till morning, the priest repeated.
Till morning? Mercy! thats impossible!
And in his despair he was on the point of attacking the sleeping man again, but stopped short at once, realising the uselessness of his efforts. The priest said nothing, the sleepy forester looked gloomy.
What terrible tragedies real life contrives for people, said Mitya, in complete despair. The perspiration was streaming down his face. The priest seized the moment to put before him, very reasonably, that even if he succeeded in wakening the man, he would still be drunk and incapable of conversation. And your business is important, he said, so youd certainly better put it off till morning. With a gesture of despair Mitya agreed.
Father, I will stay here with a light, and seize the favourable moment. As soon as he wakes Ill begin. Ill pay you for the light, he said to the forester, for the nights lodging, too; youll remember Dmitri Karamazov. Only, father I dont know what were to do with you. Where will you sleep?
No, Im going home. Ill take his horse and get home, he said, indicating the forester. And now Ill say good-bye. I wish you all success.
So it was settled. The priest rode off on the foresters horse, delighted to escape, though he shook his head uneasily, wondering whether he ought not next day to inform his benefactor Fyodor Pavlovitch of this curious incident, or he may in an unlucky hour hear of it, be angry, and withdraw his favour.
The forester, scratching himself, went back to his room without a word, and Mitya sat on the bench to catch the favourable moment, as he expressed it. Profound dejection clung about his soul like a heavy mist. A profound, intense dejection! He sat thinking, but could reach no conclusion. The candle burnt dimly, a cricket chirped; it became insufferably close in the overheated room. He suddenly pictured the
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