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Chapter 9

           

           “LizabethaProkofievna!LizabethaProkofievna!LizabethaProkofievna!”

           “Mother,thisisdisgraceful!”criedAglaya.

           Mrs.EpanchinhadapproachedHippolyteandseizedhimfirmlybythearm,whilehereyes,blazingwithfury,werefixeduponhisface.

           “Donotdistressyourself,AglayaIvanovitch,”heansweredcalmly;“yourmotherknowsthatonecannotstrikeadyingman.IamreadytoexplainwhyIwaslaughing.Ishallbedelightedifyouwillletme

           Aviolentfitofcoughing,whichlastedafullminute,preventedhimfromfinishinghissentence.

           “Heisdying,yethewillnotstopholdingforth!”criedLizabethaProkofievna.Sheloosedherholdonhisarm,almostterrified,asshesawhimwipingthebloodfromhislips.“Whydoyoutalk?Yououghttogohometobed.”

           “SoIwill,”hewhisperedhoarsely.“AssoonasIgethomeIwillgotobedatonce;andIknowIshallbedeadinafortnight;Botkinetoldmesohimselflastweek.ThatiswhyIshouldliketosayafewfarewellwords,ifyouwillletme.”

           “Butyoumustbemad!Itisridiculous!Youshouldtakecareofyourself;whatistheuseofholdingaconversationnow?Gohometobed,do!”criedMrs.Epanchininhorror.

           “WhenIdogotobedIshallnevergetupagain,”saidHippolyte,withasmile.

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