Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov, a landowner well
known in our district in his own day, and still
remembered among us owing to his gloomy and tragic
death, which happened thirteen years ago, and which I
shall describe in its proper place. For the present I will
only say that this ‘landowner’ — for so we used to call
him, although he hardly spent a day of his life on his own
estate — was a strange type, yet one pretty frequently to
be met with, a type abject and vicious and at the same
time senseless. But he was one of those senseless persons
who are very well capable of looking after their worldly
affairs, and, apparently, after nothing else. Fyodor
Pavlovitch, for instance, began with next to nothing; his
estate was of the smallest; he ran to dine at other men’s
tables, and fastened on them as a toady, yet at his death it
appeared that he had a hundred thousand roubles in hard
cash. At the same time, he was all his life one of the most
senseless, fantastical fellows in the whole district.
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