“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.
“Are you so positive I poisoned Marfa Petrovna?”
“You did! You hinted it yourself; you talked to me of poison. … I know you went to get it … you had it in readiness. … It was your doing. … It must have been your doing. … Scoundrel!”
“Even if that were true, it would have been for your sake … you would have been the cause.”
“You are lying! I hated you always, always. …”
“Oho, Avdotya Romanovna! You seem to have forgotten how you softened to me in the heat of propaganda. I saw it in your eyes. Do you remember that moonlight night, when the nightingale was