“In whom you don’t believe yourself. I never could see the idea of that.”
“Let’s leave that, Marie; we’ll talk of that later.”
“What sort of person was this Marya Timofyevna here?”
“We’ll talk of that later too, Marie.”
“Don’t dare to say such things to me! Is it true that her death may have been caused by … the wickedness … of these people?”
“Not a doubt of it,” growled Shatov.
Marie suddenly raised her head and cried out painfully:
“Don’t dare speak of that to me again, don’t dare to, never, never!”
And she fell back in bed again, overcome by the same convulsive agony; it was the third time, but this time her groans were louder, in fact she screamed.
“Oh, you insufferable man! Oh, you unbearable man,” she cried, tossing about recklessly, and pushing away Shatov as he bent over her.