take! Take my money if
you've nothing, there's eighty kopecks here, I think; that's all I have.
This is like a madhouse."

"I don't want your money, I don't want it I'll be here directly, in one
instant. I can manage without the revolver...."

And he rushed straight to Kirillov's. This was probably two hours before
the visit of Pyotr Stepanovitch and Liputin to Kirillov. Though Shatov
and Kirillov lived in the same yard they hardly ever saw each other, and
when they met they did not nod or speak: they had been too long "lying
side by side" in America....

"Kirillov, you always have tea; have you got tea and a samovar?"

Kirillov, who was walking up and down the room, as he was in the habit
of doing all night, stopped and looked intently at his hurried visitor,
though without much surprise.

"I've got tea and sugar and a samovar. But there's no need of the
samovar, the tea is hot. Sit down and simply drink it."

"Kirillov, we lay side by side in America.... My wife has come to me ...
I... give me the tea.... I shall want the samovar."

"If your wife is here you want the samovar. But take it later. I've
two. And now take the teapot from the table. It's hot, boiling hot. Take
everything, take the sugar, all of it. Bread... there's plenty of bread;
all of it. There's some veal. I've a rouble."

"Give it me, friend, I'll pay it back to-morrow! Ach, Kirillov!"

"Is it the same wife who was in Switzerland? That's a good thing. And
your running in like this, that's a good thing too."

"Kirillov!" cried Shatov, taking the teapot under his arm and carrying
the bread and sugar in both hands. "Kirillov, if... if you could get rid
of your dreadful fancies and give up your atheistic ravings... oh, what
a man you'd be, Kirillov!"

"One can see you love your wife after Switzerland. It's a good thing you
do--after Switzerland. When you want tea, come again. You can come all
night, I don't sleep at all. There'll be a samovar. Take the rouble,
here it is. Go to your wife, I'll stay here and think about you and your
wife."

Marya Shatov was unmistakably pleased at her husband's haste and fell
upon the tea almost greedily, but there was no need to run for the
samovar; she drank only half a cup and swallowed a tiny piece of bread.
The veal she refused with disgust and irritation.

"You are ill, Marie, all this is a sign of illness," Shatov remarked
timidly as he waited upon her.

"Of course I'm ill, please sit down. Where di