“Yes, she has. It’s no matter to you. Let me alone.”
“No, I won’t let you alone. Tell me, when was she here?”
“Why, I’d quite forgotten about her,” said Smerdyakov, with a scornful smile, and turning his face to Ivan again, he stared at him with a look of frenzied hatred, the same look that he had fixed on him at their last interview, a month before.
“You seem very ill yourself, your face is sunken; you don’t look like yourself,” he said to Ivan.
“Never mind my health, tell me what I ask you.”
“But why are your eyes so yellow? The whites are quite yellow. Are you so worried?” He smiled contemptuously and suddenly laughed outright.
“Listen; I’ve told you I won’t go away without an answer!” Ivan cried, intensely irritated.
“Why do you keep pestering me? Why do you torment me?” said Smerdyakov, with a look of suffering.
“Damn it! I’ve nothing to do with you. Just answer my question and I’ll go away.”
“I’ve no answer to give you,” said Smerdyakov, looking down again.