So we are in such a state of mind that even chicken..."
"I've dined, and it's not your business. Hold your tongue!"
"Oh, of course; besides, it's no consequence—though for me at the moment it is of consequence. Only fancy, I scarcely had any dinner, and so if, as I suppose, that chicken is not wanted now... eh?"
"Eat it if you can."
"Thank you, and then I'll have tea."
He instantly settled himself at the other end of the sofa and fell upon the chicken with extraordinary greediness; at the same time he kept a constant watch on his victim.
Kirillov looked at him fixedly with angry aversion, as though unable to tear himself away.
"I say, though," Pyotr Stepanovitch fired off suddenly, while he still went on eating, "what about our business?
We are not crying off, are we?
How about that document?"
"I've decided in the night that it's nothing to me.
I'll write it.
About the manifestoes?"
"Yes, about the manifestoes too.
But I'll dictate it.
Of course, that's nothing to you.
Can you possibly mind what's in the letter at such a moment?"
"That's not your business."
"It's not mine, of course.
It need only be a few lines, though: that you and Shatov distributed the manifestoes and with the help of Fedka, who hid in your lodgings.
This last point about Fedka and your lodgings is very important—the most important of all, indeed.
You see, I am talking to you quite openly."
"Shatov?
Why Shatov?
I won't mention Shatov for anything."
"What next! What is it to you?
You can't hurt him now."
"His wife has come back to him.
She has waked up and has sent to ask me where he is."
"She has sent to ask you where he is?
H'm... that's unfortunate.
She may send again; no one ought to know I am here."
Pyotr Stepanovitch was uneasy.
"She won't know, she's gone to sleep again. There's a midwife with her, Arina Virginsky."
"So that's how it was.... She won't overhear, I suppose?
I say, you'd better shut the front door."
"She won't overhear anything.
And if Shatov comes I'll hide you in another room."
"Shatov won't come; and you must write that you quarrelled with him because he turned traitor and informed the police... this evening... and caused his death."
"He is dead!" cried Kirillov, jumping up from the sofa.
"He died at seven o'clock this evening, or rather, at seven o'clock yesterday evening, and now it's one o'clock."
"You have killed him!...
And I foresaw it yesterday!"
"No doubt you did!
With this revolver here." (He drew out his revolver as though to show it, but did not put it back again and still held it in his right hand as though in readiness.) "You are a strange man, though, Kirillov; you knew yourself that the stupid fellow was bound to end like this.
What was there to foresee in that?
I made that as plain as possible over and over again.
Shatov was meaning to betray us; I was watching him, and it could not be left like that.
And you too had instructions to watch him; you told me so yourself three weeks ago...."
"Hold your tongue!