“I ought to … but I cannot. …” Katya moaned. “He will look at me. … I can’t.”
“Your eyes ought to meet. How will you live all your life, if you don’t make up your mind to do it now?”
“Better suffer all my life.”
“You ought to go, you ought to go,” Alyosha repeated with merciless emphasis.
“But why today, why at once? … I can’t leave our patient—”
“You can for a moment. It will only be a moment. If you don’t come, he will be in delirium by tonight. I would not tell you a lie; have pity on him!”
“Have pity on me !” Katya said, with bitter reproach, and she burst into tears.
“Then you will come,” said Alyosha firmly, seeing her tears. “I’ll go and tell him you will come directly.”
“No, don’t tell him so on any account,” cried Katya in alarm. “I will come, but don’t tell him beforehand, for perhaps I may go, but not go in. … I don’t know yet—”
Her voice failed her. She gasped for breath. Alyosha got up to go.
“And what if I meet anyone?” she said suddenly, in a low voice, turning white again.
“That’s just why you must go now, to avoid meeting anyone. There will be no one there, I can tell you that for certain. We will expect you,” he concluded emphatically, and went out of the room.