CHAPTER VIII. OVER THE BRANDY
The controversy was over. But, strange to say, Fyodor Pavlovitch, who had been so gay, suddenly began frowning. He frowned and gulped brandy, and it was already a glass too much.
“Get along with you, Jesuits!” he cried to the servants. “Go away, Smerdyakov. I’ll send you the gold piece I promised you to-day, but be off! Don’t cry, Grigory. Go to Marfa. She’ll comfort you and put you to bed. The rascals won’t let us sit in peace after dinner,” he snapped peevishly, as the servants promptly withdrew at his word.
“Smerdyakov always pokes himself in now, after dinner. It’s you he’s so interested in. What have you done to fascinate him?” he added to Ivan.
“Nothing whatever,” answered Ivan. “He’s pleased to have a high opinion of me; he’s a lackey and a mean sou
