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Updated: May 21, 2025
Seriously, tell me seriously, didn't you read all my letter from America, perhaps you didn't read it at all?" "I read three pages of it. The two first and the last. And I glanced through the middle as well. But I was always meaning..." "Ah, never mind, drop it! Damn it!" cried Shatov, waving his hand.
"What?" cried Shatov, "'from your extraordinary aptitude for crime'?" "Just so." "H'm! And is it true?" he asked, with an angry smile. "Is it true that when you were in Petersburg you belonged to a secret society for practising beastly sensuality? Is it true that you could give lessons to the Marquis de Sade? Is it true that you decoyed and corrupted children?
He was in a perfect frenzy, desperate and perspiring. The two notes he had just given him were each for a rouble. Shatov had seven roubles altogether now. "Well, damn you, then, I'll come to-morrow. I'll thrash you, Lyamshin, if you don't give me the other eight." "You won't find me at home, you fool!" Lyamshin reflected quickly.
"You've been to see Shatov too.... You mean to make it known about Marya Timofyevna," Pyotr Stepanovitch muttered, running after him, and, as though not thinking of what he was doing he clutched at his shoulder. Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch shook his hand off and turned round quickly to him with a menacing scowl. Pyotr Stepanovitch looked at him with a strange, prolonged smile.
Stavrogin waited a moment and then began. "I've heard that you have some influence on Marya Timofyevna, and that she was fond of seeing you and hearing you talk. Is that so?" "Yes... she used to listen..." said Shatov, confused. "Within a day or two I intend to make a public announcement of our marriage here in the town." "Is that possible?" Shatov whispered, almost with horror.
When he reached the top he stood still; it was impossible to see his face in the dark; suddenly Shatov heard the cautious question: "Ivan Shatov?" Shatov said who he was, but at once held out his hand to check his advance. The latter took his hand, and Shatov shuddered as though he had touched some terrible reptile. "Stand here," he whispered quickly. "Don't go in, I can't receive you just now.
"Are you really ill?" The amiable expression of his face suddenly vanished; there was a gleam of spite in his eyes. "Not at all." Shatov jumped up nervously. "I am not ill at all... a little headache..." He was disconcerted; the sudden appearance of such a visitor positively alarmed him.
"They didn't love the people!" yelled Stepan Trofimovitch. "Oh, how they loved Russia!" "Neither Russia nor the people!" Shatov yelled too, with flashing eyes. "You can't love what you don't know and they had no conception of the Russian people. All of them peered at the Russian people through their fingers, and you do too; Byelinsky especially: from that very letter to Gogol one can see it.
He tried to stop up his ears, but could not, and he fell on his knees, repeating unconsciously, "Marie, Marie!" Then suddenly he heard a cry, a new cry, which made Shatov start and jump up from his knees, the cry of a baby, a weak discordant cry. He crossed himself and rushed into the room.
He had been instructed; for instance, to have a good look at Shatov's surroundings while carrying out his commission, and when Shatov, receiving him at the top of the stairs, blurted out to him, probably unaware in the heat of the moment, that his wife had come back to him Erkel had the instinctive cunning to avoid displaying the slightest curiosity, though the idea flashed through his mind that the fact of his wife's return was of great importance for the success of their undertaking.
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