AndIvan, onpartingfromAlyosha, wenthometoFyodorPavlovitch', strangetosay, hewasovercomebyinsufferabledepression, ; , andtherewasnothingsurprisingathisfeelingsoatsuchamoment, whenhehadbrokenoffwitheverythingthathadbroughthimhere, andwaspreparingthatdaytomakeanewstartandenteruponanew, , andthoughhehadgreathopes, andgreat—toogreat—expectationsfromlife, hecouldnothavegivenanydefiniteaccountofhishopes, hisexpectations, orevenhisdesires.

Yetatthatmoment, thoughtheapprehensionofthenewandunknowncertainlyfoundplaceinhisheart, whatwasworryinghimwassomethingquitedifferent."Isitloathingformyfather'shouse?" hewondered."Quitelikely; Iamsosickofit; andthoughit'sthelasttimeIshallcrossitshatefulthreshold, stillIloatheit....No, it'? ForsomanyyearsI'vebeensilentwiththewholeworldandnotdeignedtospeak, andallofasuddenIreeloffarigmarolelikethat." Itcertainlymighthavebeentheyouthfulvexationofyouthfulinexperienceandvanity—vexationathavingfailedtoexpresshimself, especiallywithsuchabeingasAlyosha, , thatvexation, itmusthavedoneindeed; butyetthatwasnotit, thatwasnotiteither."IfeelsickwithdepressionandyetIcan', perhaps."