Quibgy tapped his chin thoughtfully, then spun his cane and sat down crisply, contemplating L's question. Dostoevsky? Yes, that name was familiar. Died only a few years before Dorian was born. While Dorian had grown up in a middle-upper class religious society, such books were scandalous, as Dostoevsky's philosphical methods were far before his time.
He didn't know much of the man's books himself, hardly anything about Dostoevsky's existential beliefs, but what he recalled of the man intrigued him to the point of being all-together unbiased in his thoughts of him.
"Verily, Verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." Quigby mused out loud, remembering when he found a copy of The Brothers Karamazov in his mother's desk drawer. His mother had been found of those scandalous books. "I know not much of this writer, I'm afraid. Quite so, was he a happy man?"