is hateful. I only spoke to show you that you need have no remorse even if … you were willing to save your brother of your own accord, as I suggest to you. You would be simply submitting to circumstances, to violence, in fact, if we must use that word. Think about it. Your brother’s and your mother’s fate are in your hands. I will be your slave … all my life … I will wait here.”
Svidrigaïlov sat down on the sofa about eight steps from Dounia. She had not the slightest doubt now of his unbending determination. Besides, she knew him.
Suddenly she pulled out of her pocket a revolver, cocked it and laid it in her hand on the table. Svidrigaïlov jumped up.
“Aha! So that’s it, is it?” he cried, surprised but smiling maliciously.
“Well, that completely alters the aspect of affairs. You’ve made things wonderfully easier for me, Avdotya Romanovna. But where did you get the revolver? Was it Mr. Razumihin? Why, it’s my revolver, an old friend! And how I’ve hunted for it! The shooting lessons I’ve given you in the country have not been thrown away.”
“It’s not your revolver, it belonged to Marfa Petrovna, whom you killed, wretch! There was nothing of yours in her house. I took it when I began to suspect what you were capable of. If you dare to advance one step, I swear I’ll kill you.”
She was frantic.
“But your brother? I ask from curiosity,” said Svidrigaïlov, still standing where he was.
“Inform, if you want to! Don’t stir! Don’t come nearer! I’ll shoot! You poisoned your wife, I know; you are a murderer yourself!”
She held the revolver ready.