She started.

'Yes, write, write to him... what you like.... And here...' She
hurriedly fumbled in her pocket and brought out a little manuscript
book. 'This I was writing for him... before he ran away.... But he
believed... he believed him!'

I understood that her words referred to Viktor; Susanna would not
mention him, would not utter his detested name.

'But, Susanna Ivanovna, excuse me,' I began, 'what makes you suppose
that Alexander Daviditch had any conversation... with that person?'

'What? Why, he himself came to me and told me all about it, and bragged
of it... and laughed just as his father laughs! Here, here, take it,'
she went on, thrusting the manuscript into my hand, 'read it, send it to
him, burn it, throw it away, do what you like, as you please.... But I
can't die like this with no one knowing.... Now it is time.... I must
go.'

She got up from the window-seat.... I stopped her.

'Where are you going, Susanna Ivanovna, mercy on us! Listen, what a
storm is raging! You are so lightly dressed.... And your home is not
near here. Let me at least go for a carriage, for a sledge....'

'No, no, I want nothing,' she said resolutely, repelling me and taking
up her cloak and shawl. 'Don't keep me, for God's sake! or... I can't
answer for anything! I feel an abyss, a dark abyss under my feet....
Don't come near me, don't touch me!' With feverish haste she put on her