Anísya (sighs). I know, yet it's frightening. Though he's worried me to death.
Matryóna. Well, and did you use many?
Anísya. I gave two doses.
Matryóna. Was anything noticeable?
Anísya. I had a taste of the tea myself—just a little bitter. And he drank them with the tea and says, "Even tea disgusts me," and I say, "Everything tastes bitter when one's sick." But I felt that scared, mother.
Matryóna. Don't go thinking about it. The more one thinks the worse it is.
Anísya. I wish you'd never given them to me and led me into sin. When I think of it something seems to tear my heart. Oh, dear, why did you give them to me?
Matryóna. What do you mean, honey? Lord help you! Why are you turning it on to me? Mind, lass, don't go twisting matters from the sick on to the healthy. If anything were to happen, I stand aside! I know nothing! I'm aware of nothing! I'll kiss the cross on it; I never gave you any kind of powders, never saw any, never heard of any, and never knew there were such powders. You think about yourself, lass. Why, we were talking about you the other day. "Poor thing, what torture she endures. The step-daughter an idiot; the old man rotten, sucking her lifeblood. What wouldn't one be ready to do in such a case!"
Anísya. I'm not going to deny it. A life such as mine could make one do worse than that. It could make you hang yourself or throttle him. Is this a life?
Matryóna. That's just it. There's no time to stand gaping; the money must be found one way or other, and then he must have his tea.