from our town—who they are I can’t say—and there are two others, strangers, maybe more besides. I didn’t ask particularly. They’ve set to playing cards, so Timofey said.”
“Cards?”
“So, maybe they’re not in bed if they’re at cards. It’s most likely not more than eleven.”
“Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!” Mitya cried again, nervously.
“May I ask you something, sir?” said Andrey, after a pause. “Only I’m afraid of angering you, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Why, Fenya threw herself at your feet just now, and begged you not to harm her mistress, and someone else, too … so you see, sir—It’s I am taking you there … forgive me, sir, it’s my conscience … maybe it’s stupid of me to speak of it—”