new,” said Nikolay, angrily tugging at his necktie.

“But my idea has nothing in common...”

“That, anyway,” said Nikolay Levin, with an ironical smile, his eyes flashing malignantly, “has the charm of — what’s one to call it? — geometrical symmetry, of clearness, of definiteness. It may be a Utopia. But if once one allows the possibility of making of all the past a tabula rasa — no property, no family — then labor would organize itself. But you gain nothing...”

“Why do you mix things up? I’ve never been a communist.”

“But I have, and I consider it’s premature, but rational, and it has a future, just like Christianity in its first ages.”