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Even from the end of summer Verka noticed that her beloved was becoming more and more cold and negligent; and, talking with her, was dwelling in thought somewhere far, far away. She tortured herself, was jealous, questioned him, but always received in answer some indeterminate phrases, some ominous hints at a near misfortune, at a premature grave ...
Verka pestered Petrov: "Sweetie, dearie, what a tootsie-wootsicums you are! I adore such pale brunets; they are jealous and very fiery in love." And suddenly she started singing in a low voice: "He's kind of brown, My light, my own, Won't sell me out, and won't deceive. He suffers madly, Pants and coat gladly All for a woman he will give." "How do they call you, ducky dear?"
And he was in reality convinced that he would shoot himself; but thought of it somehow affectedly, as though admiring, a trifle from the side, his tragic role; and enjoying beforehand the despair of his relatives and the amazement of his fellow clerks. While Verka, when she had suddenly said that she would commit suicide with her beloved, had been immediately strengthened in this thought.
For a long time already she had been in love with a semi-military man, who called himself a civic clerk in the military department. His name was Dilectorsky. In their relations Verka was the adoring party; while he, like an important idol, condescendingly received the worship and the proffered gifts.
Two or three times a month, and sometimes even oftener, he visited Yamskaya Street with ecclesiastical academicians of his acquaintance, just the same precentors as he, and some psalmists; and having usually made a full review of all the establishments, always wound up with the house of Anna Markovna, where he invariably chose Verka.
But why should you hang around by yourself in this here darkness? You'd better go into the cabinet. If you want to, I'll send you beer there. Or, perhaps you want coffee? Or else," and her eyes sparkled slyly, "or else a girlie, perhaps? Tamara is busy, but may be Niura or Verka will do?" "Stop it, Jennie! I came about a serious and important matter, but you ..." "Well, well, I won't, I won't!
And yet, a fine impress, a tender aroma of death, was wafted from the bushes, from the grass, from the trees. Dilectorsky waxed tender; gave his feelings a free rein, was moved over himself, and began to weep. Verka wept a bit with him, too. "To-day I will kill myself!" said Dilectorsky finally. "All is over! ..." "My own, don't! ... My precious, don't! ..."
She will not be able to sustain this degradation ... No! Death is a thousand times better than these hellish tortures of a being guilty of naught." Somehow one day he was promenading for a long time with Verka in Prince Park.
When, at last, after long efforts the musicians agree, the somewhat small Verka walks up to the large Zoe, in that mincing, tethered walk, the hind part sticking out, and elbows spread as though for flight, with which only women in male costume can walk, and makes a comical masculine bow to her, spreading her arms wide and lowering them.
Come to me! There, so! Nearer, nearer.. Give me your eyes, I will be gazing into them. Give me your lips I will be kissing you, while you... I am not afraid! ... Be braver! ... Kiss me harder! ..." He killed her; and when he looked upon the horrible deed of his hands, he then suddenly felt a loathsome, abominable, abject fear. The half-naked body of Verka was still quivering on the bed.
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