Sternly.
Why have you brought this?
ANATHEMA.
Meekly.
But, pardon me, Mr. Leizer, I am only a lawyer. I am sincerely glad.
DAVID.
Why have you brought this?
He pushes Anathema aside, and reeling, goes to the road. Suddenly he stops, turns around and shouts, flourishing his hands.
DAVID.
I Drive him away—that is the Devil. Do you think he brought me four million roubles? No, he brought me four million insults. Four million mockeries he hurled upon the head of David ... Four oceans of bitter tears have I shed over life, my sighs were four winds of the earth, my four children were devoured by hunger and diseases—and now, when I must die, he brings me four millions. Will they return to me my youth which I passed in privation, oppressed with grief, wrapped with sorrows, crowned with anguish? Will they repay me for one day of my starvation, one tear that fell upon a rock, one insult hurled at my face? Four million curses—that's what your four million roubles are—oh, Hannah, oh, Benjamin, and Raphael, and my little Moishe,—you, my little birdies, who died of hunger upon the naked branches of winter—what will you say if your father should touch this money? No, I don't need any money. I am telling you—I, an old Jew, dying of hunger. I don't need any money. I don't see God in this. But I shall go to Him, I shall tell Him: What are you doing with David?—I am going.