'It's not indeed, master.'

The hole was already of a good depth. People saw what Misha was about,
and ran to tell the new owner about it. The money-lender was at first
very angry, wanted to send for the police: 'This is sacrilege,' said he.
But afterwards, probably reflecting that it was inconvenient anyway to
have to do with such a madman, and that it might lead to a scandal,--he
went in his own person to the churchyard, and approaching Misha, still
toiling, made him a polite bow. He went on with his digging as though he
had not noticed his successor. 'Mihail Andreitch,' began the
money-lender, 'allow me to ask what you are doing here?'

'You can see--I am digging myself a grave.'

'Why are you doing so?'

'Because I don't want to live any longer.'

The money-lender fairly threw up his hands in amazement. 'You don't
want to live?'

Misha glanced menacingly at the money-lender. 'That surprises you?
Aren't you the cause of it all? ... You? ... You? ... Wasn't it you,
Judas, who robbed me, taking advantage of my childishness? Aren't you
flaying the peasants' skins off their backs? Haven't you taken from
this poor old man his crust of dry bread? Wasn't it you? ... O God!
everywhere nothing but injustice, and oppression, and evil-doing....
Everything must go to ruin then, and me too! I don't care for life, I
don't care for life in Russia!' And the spade moved faster than ever in
Misha's hands.