“One day, a serf-boy, a little boy of eight, threw a stone in play and hurt the paw of the General's favourite hound. ‘Why is my favourite dog lame?’ He was told that the boy had thrown a stone at it and hurt his paw. ‘Oh, so it's you, is it?’ said the General looking him up and down. ‘Take him!’ They took him. They took him away from his mother, and he spent the night in the lock-up. Early next morning the General, in full dress, went out hunting. He mounted his horse, surrounded by his hangers-on, his whips, and his huntsmen, all mounted. His house-serfs were all mustered to teach them a lesson, and in front of them all stood the child's mother. The boy was brought out of the lock-up. It was a bleak, cold, misty autumn day, a perfect day for hunting. The General ordered the boy to be undressed. The little boy was stripped naked. He shivered, panic-stricken and not daring to utter a sound. ‘Make him run!’ ordered the General, ‘Run, run!’ the whips shouted at him. The boy ran. ‘Sick him!’ bawled the General, and set the whole pack of borzoi hounds on him. They hunted the child down before the eyes of his mother, and the hounds tore him to pieces. … Well, what was one to do with [the General]? …”

“Shoot him!” Alyosha said softly.