“Wait a minute, you don’t know⁠ ⁠… stay a little, stay!⁠ ⁠…” She stopped, as though collecting her ideas. “Yes,” she began; “yes, yes, yes. This is what I wanted to say. Don’t be surprised at me. I’m still the same.⁠ ⁠… But there is another woman in me, I’m afraid of her: she loved that man, and I tried to hate you, and could not forget about her that used to be. I’m not that woman. Now I’m my real self, all myself. I’m dying now, I know I shall die, ask him. Even now I feel⁠—see here, the weights on my feet, on my hands, on my fingers. My fingers⁠—see how huge they are! But this will soon all be over.⁠ ⁠… Only one thing I want: forgive me, forgive me quite. I’m terrible, but my nurse used to tell me; the holy martyr⁠—what was her name? She was worse. And I’ll go to Rome; there’s a wilderness, and there I shall be no trouble to anyone, only I’ll take Seryozha and the little one.⁠ ⁠… No, you can’t forgive me! I know, it can’t be forgiven! No, no, go away, you’re too good!” She held his hand in one burning hand, while she pushed him away with the other.