“Marie! Marie! What are you doing? Why have you run away?”
Prilukoff's right hand was still uplifted, and now he held it close to his temple. As I clutched that hand I could also feel the cold contact with the steel of a revolver.
“Do you swear that you will be mine forever?”
I murmured something inarticulate. Naumoff was calling under his breath: “Marie! Marie! Open the door.”
Prilukoff raised his voice slightly. “Swear to me that you loathe that man and the other; swear that if I murdered them both you would still be mine.”
“Swear it! Swear that they shall both die, that you will help me to rid the world of them. Swear it.” I could feel his hand tenser against his temple, I could feel the first finger crooking itself over the trigger. “Unless you swear,” hissed Prilukoff, “I shall shoot myself here, this instant.”
I did so. He repeated the words softly with me: “I swear—that—they shall die.” And something within me kept saying: “I am dreaming all this.”
“That is not enough!” breathed Prilukoff. “Swear it on the life of Tioka.”
My parched lips opened, but the iniquitous words would not pass my throat.