[CHAPTER XXXII]
It was a cold, bleak day. Peredonov had just left Volodin. He felt depressed. Vershina lured him into the garden. He yielded again to her witching call. The two of them walked towards the summer-house, over the moist footpaths which were covered by the dark, rotting fallen leaves. The summer-house felt unpleasantly damp. The house with its windows closed was visible through the bare trees.
"I want you to know the truth," mumbled Vershina, as she looked quickly at Peredonov, and then turned away her black eyes.
She was wrapped in a black jacket, her head was tied round with a black kerchief, and her lips, grown blue with the cold, were clenched on a black cigarette holder, and sent out thick clouds of black smoke.
"I want to spit on your truth," replied Peredonov. "Nothing would please me better."
Vershina smiled wryly and said:
"Don't say that! I am terribly sorry for you—you have been fooled."
There was a malicious joy in her voice. Malevolent words flowed from her tongue. She said:
"You were hoping to get patronage, but you were too trustful. You have been fooled, and you believed so easily. Anyone can write a letter. You should have known with whom you were dealing. Your wife is not a very particular person."