it is necessary that she, Stepanída, should not be there. She must be sent away, as I said, or destroyed so that she shall not exist. And the other life—is this: For me to take her away from her husband, pay him money, disregard the shame and disgrace, and live with her. But in that case it is necessary that Liza should not exist, nor Mimi (the baby). No, that is not so, the baby does not matter, but it is necessary that there should be no Liza—that she should go away—that she should know, curse me, and go away. That she should know that I have exchanged her for a peasant-woman, that I am a deceiver and a scoundrel!—No, that is too terrible! It is impossible. But it might happen,” he went on thinking—“it might happen that Liza might fall ill and die. Die, and then everything would be capital.
“Capital! Oh, scoundrel! No, if someone must die it should be Stepanída. If she were to die, how good it would be.
“Yes, that is how men come to poison or kill their wives or lovers. Take a revolver and go and call her, and instead of embracing her, shoot her in the breast and have done with it.
“Really she is—a devil. Simply a devil. She has possessed herself of me against my own will.
“Kill? Yes. There are only two ways out: to kill my wife or her. For it is impossible to live like this. It is impossible! I must consider the matter and look ahead. If things remain as they are what will happen? I shall again be saying to myself that I do not wish it and that I will throw her off, but it will be merely words; in the evening I shall be at her backyard, and she will know it and will come out. And if people know of it and tell my wife, or if I tell her myself—for I can’t lie—I shall not be able to live so. I cannot! People will know. They will all know—Parásha and the blacksmith. Well, is it possible to live so?
“Impossible! There are only two ways out: to kill my wife, or to kill her. Yes, or else … Ah, yes, there is a third way: to kill myself,” said he softly,