“What is it?” he repeated.
Still she was silent. One hand was thrust deeper into its pocket, he saw a shudder run through her, and suddenly she burst into hysterical weeping, sinking into a chair. He stood for some moments helplessly regarding her before he gained the presence of mind to go to the door and lock it, returning to bend over her.
“Don't touch me!” she said, shrinking from him.
“For God's sake tell me what's the matter,” he begged.
She looked up at him and tried to speak, struggling against the sobs that shook her.
“I—I came here to—to kill you—only I can't do it.”
“To kill me!” he said, after a pause. In spite of the fact that he had half divined her intention, the words shocked him. Whatever else may be said of him, he did not lack courage, his alarm was not of a physical nature. Mingled with it were emotions he himself did not understand, caused by the unwonted sight of her loss of self-control, of her anger, and despair. “Why did you want to kill me?”
And again he had to wait for an answer.
“Because you've spoiled my life—because I'm going to have a child!”
“What do you mean? Are you?... it can't be possible.”