"You liar—you liar!" she hissed, stretching out her head towards Ilya.
"Shall I mention some of your birthmarks?" said Ilya quietly, "and your husband shall say if I speak the truth or no."
There was a murmur in the room and suppressed laughter. Tatiana stretched up her arms, caught at her throat and sank on a chair without a sound.
"Police!" cried the telegraph official. Kirik turned round at the cry, then suddenly ran at Ilya headlong. Ilya stretched out his arms and pushed him away as he came, shouting roughly,
"Where are you coming?—you're too impatient. I can send you flying with one blow. Listen—all of you—listen, you'll hear the truth for once."
Kirik paid no attention, but bent his head forward and attacked again. The guests looked on silently; no one moved except Travkin, who went quietly on tiptoe into a corner, sat down on the seat by the stove and put his clasped hands between his knees.
"Look out. I'll hit you!" Ilya warned the furious Kirik. "I've no wish to hurt you—you're a stupid ass, but you never did me any harm—get away."
He pushed Kirik off again, this time more forcibly, and got his own back against the wall. Here he stood and began to speak, his eyes travelling over the company.
"Your wife threw herself into my arms. Oh, she's clever—but vicious! In the whole world there's no one worse. But all of you—all are vicious and degraded. I was in the court to-day—there I learnt to judge."
He had so much to say, that he was in no condition to arrange his thoughts, and hurled them like fragments of rock.