Suddenly Ilya laughed, a dry, unpleasant laugh; his uncle turned away surprised and asked: "What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing. He was quite right, that preacher. Yes—the devil! I think so too, word for word."
"He said, too," Terenti began with relish, "that sin gives the soul wings—wings of repentance to fly to the throne of the Almighty."
"Do you know," interrupted Ilya, "you're rather like Satan, too!"
The hunchback stretched out his arms like a great bird spreading its wings, and stood paralysed with fear and anger.
Ilya sat up on his bed, pushed his uncle aside, and said, gloomily:
"Get away!"
Terenti stood in the middle of the room; he looked darkly at his nephew who sat on the bed, his head on his breast, and his shoulders up to his ears.
"Suppose I won't repent," said Ilya boldly. "Suppose I think I didn't want to sin—everything happened of itself, everything is by God's will, why should I trouble? He knows all, and guides all; if He hadn't willed it, He would have held me back. So I was right in all I did. All men live in unrighteousness and sin, but how many repent?—Well, what do you say to that?"
"I don't understand; God help you!" said Terenti sadly and sighed.