The Brothers Karamazov

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So now the monk knows what sort of creatures we are:  “the despised but noble poor.”  It’s all Papa’s fault, you know.  Look at how far he’s fallen, taking all of us down with him.  We’re broken because he’s broken.  It’s unforgivable that he cannot be a real father to us. A real father would feed us, first of all.  He would worry about our empty stomachs and not about his honor and his pride.  A real father would wipe our tears, guide us, provide us with a sense of certainty in an uncertain and impoverished world.  Where are the fathers who might save us from our poverty?  Because with this father, all my chances, all my hopes are ruined.

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