»No,« he answered curtly. »I never cry.«
»And no need, dearie; we women can weep; you needn't. If you wept, too, who would there be to give an answer to God?«
She was his? This woman was his?
»Liuba,« he cried in anguish, »what can I do? What can I do?«
»Stay with me. You can stay with me, for now you are mine.«
»And They?«
The girl frowned.
»What sort of people are They?«
»Men! Men!« he exclaimed in a frenzy. »Men with whom I used to work. It was not for myself—no, not for self-satisfaction that I bore all this, that I was getting ready to carry out this assassination!«
»Don't talk to me about those people,« she said sternly, though her lips trembled. »Don't mention them to me or I shall quarrel with you again. You hear me?«