my housekeeper and a substitute for a wife. I think she had a lover on the side, but she is a pretty woman, gentle and not greedy, and I easily reconciled myself with this slight fault, which is almost unavoidable when a man obtains love for money. This stupid woman was the first to strike me a blow.
"Kiss me!" said I.
She smiled stupidly and remained unmoved.
"Come, now!"
All of a sudden she trembled, blushed and with frightened eyes drew herself appealingly toward me from across the table and said:
"Anton Ignatyevich, little soul, go to the doctor!"
"What next?" I exclaimed angrily
"Oh, please, don't shout so, I'm afraid! I'm so afraid of you, little soul mine, little angel!"
Yet she knew nothing of my fits, nor of the murder, and I had been always kind with her and reasonable. It was to be inferred
