“His wife has come back to him. She has waked up and has sent to ask me where he is.”
“She has sent to ask you where he is? H’m … that’s unfortunate. She may send again; no one ought to know I am here.”
Pyotr Stepanovitch was uneasy.
“She won’t know, she’s gone to sleep again. There’s a midwife with her, Arina Virginsky.”
“So that’s how it was.… She won’t overhear, I suppose? I say, you’d better shut the front door.”
“She won’t overhear anything. And if Shatov comes I’ll hide you in another room.”
“Shatov won’t come; and you must write that you quarrelled with him because he turned traitor and informed the police … this evening … and caused his death.”
“He is dead!” cried Kirillov, jumping up from the sofa.
“He died at seven o’clock this evening, or rather, at seven o’clock yesterday evening, and now it’s one o’clock.”
“You have killed him!… And I foresaw it yesterday!”