Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com Madame Hohlakov’s face assumed an expression of in-
tense and painful excitement.
‘Good God! He must have killed his old father!’ she cried,
clasping her hands. ‘I have never given him money, never!
Oh, run, run!... Don’t say another word Save the old man...
run to his father... run!’
‘Excuse me, madam, then you did not give him money?
You remember for a fact that you did not give him any mon-
ey?’
‘No, I didn’t, I didn’t! I refused to give it him, for he could
not appreciate it. He ran out in a fury, stamping. He rushed
at me, but I slipped away.... And let me tell you, as I wish
to hide nothing from you now, that he positively spat at
me. Can you fancy that! But why are we standing? Ah, sit
down.’
‘Excuse me, I..’
‘Or better run, run, you must run and save the poor old
man from an awful death!’
‘But if he has killed him already?’
‘Ah, good heavens, yes! Then what are we to do now?
What do you think we must do now?’
Meantime she had made Pyotr Ilyitch sit down and sat
down herself, facing him briefly, but fairly clearly, Pyotr Ily-
itch told her the history of the affair, that part of it at least
which he had himself witnessed. He described, too, his vis-
it to Fenya, and told her about the pestle. All these details
produced an overwhelming effect on the distracted lady,
who kept uttering shrieks, and covering her face with her
hands...