An ordinary boy, a weak son, would have submitted, have felt ashamed of his father, sir, but he stood up for his father against them all. For his father and for truth and for justice. For what he suffered when he kissed your brother’s hand and cried to him ‘forgive father, forgive him,’– that only God knows– and I, his father. For our children– not your children, but ours– the children of the poor gentlemen looked down upon by everyone– know what justice means, sir, even at nine years old. How should the rich know? They don’t explore such depths once in their lives. But at that moment in the square when he kissed his hand, at that moment my Ilusha had grasped all that justice means.
The captain to Alyosha, The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky
there must be more 