He stretched his bony arm toward her and beckoned to her to draw near him, shaking his black fingers.
"Ah, I am sick of you, you detestable creature," Rayisa cried in a stifled voice; and snatching the pillow from under his head she flung it over the old man's face, threw herself upon it, and held his thin arms, which flashed in the air.
"You have made me sick of you," she cried again. "I can't stand you any more. Go to the devil! Go, go!"
Yevsey dropped to the floor. He heard the stifled rattle, the low squeak, the hollow blows; he understood that Rayisa was choking and squeezing the old man, and that his master kept beating his feet upon the sofa. He felt neither pity nor fear. He merely desired everything to be accomplished more quickly. So he covered his eyes and ears with his hands.
The pain of a blow caused by the opening of the door compelled him to jump to his feet. Before him stood Rayisa arranging her hair, which hung over her shoulders.
"Well, did you see it?" she asked gruffly. Her face was red, but now more calm. Her hands did not tremble.
"I did," replied Yevsey, nodding his head. He moved closer to Rayisa.
"Well, if you want to, you can inform the police."
She turned and walked into the room leaving the door open. Yevsey remained at the door, trying not to look at the sofa.
"Is he dead, quite dead?" he asked in a whisper.