"But if you don't care for him, why did you allow him to beat you?"
"How do I know?... Leave me alone!"
"It's a queer go!" said Sereja, shaking his head. And they were both silent Night came on. The slow-moving clouds threw dark shadows over the sea. The waves moaned.
Vassili's fire at the end of the cape had died down, but Malva continued to look out in that direction. Sereja watched the girl attentively.
"Listen!" he said, "do you know what you want?"
"If only I could know!" she replied in a low voice, with a deep-drawn sigh.
"You don't know?... That's a bad job," said Sereja positively. "I, I always know!"
And with a shade of sadness, he added—
"Only it's so rarely that I want anything...." "And I, I am always wanting something," said Malva. "I want ... what ... I don't know.... Sometimes I would like to jump into a boat, and go out to sea, far, far out. And at other times I should like to turn all you men into tops, who would spin and spin in front of me. I should watch them, and I should laugh. Sometimes I pity everybody, and especially myself; sometimes I want to kill everybody, and then do for myself some horrible death. And then I am bored, and then I want to laugh, and men are all a lot of sticks."
"They are rotten wood," Sereja agreed softly. "I was right when I said to myself—'you are neither cat, nor fish, nor bird ... but you have something of all of them in you. You are not like other women."