epanovitch took up his revolver again.
"Now in your spite and cowardice you may think fit to put it off and to
turn traitor to-morrow, so as to get money again; they'll pay you for
that, of course. Damn it all, fellows like you are capable of anything!
Only don't trouble yourself; I've provided for all contingencies: I am
not going till I've dashed your brains out with this revolver, as I did
to that scoundrel Shatov, if you are afraid to do it yourself and put
off your intention, damn you!"

"You are set on seeing my blood, too?"

"I am not acting from spite; let me tell you, it's nothing to me. I am
doing it to be at ease about the cause. One can't rely on men; you see
that for yourself. I don't understand what fancy possesses you to put
yourself to death. It wasn't my idea; you thought of it yourself before
I appeared, and talked of your intention to the committee abroad before
you said anything to me. And you know, no one has forced it out of you;
no one of them knew you, but you came to confide in them yourself, from
sentimentalism. And what's to be done if a plan of action here, which
can't be altered now, was founded upon that with your consent and upon
your suggestion?... your suggestion, mind that! You have put yourself
in a position in which you know too much. If you are an ass and go off
to-morrow to inform the police, that would be rather a disadvantage to
us; what do you think about it? Yes, you've bound yourself; you've given
your word, you've taken money. That you can't deny...."

Pyotr Stepanovitch was much excited, but for some time past Kirillov
had not been listening. He paced up and down the room, lost in thought
again.

"I am sorry for Shatov," he said, stopping before Pyotr Stepanovitch
again.

"Why so? I am sorry, if that's all, and do you suppose..."

"Hold your tongue, you scoundrel," roared Kirillov, making an alarming
and unmistakable movement; "I'll kill you."

"There, there, there! I told a lie, I admit it; I am not sorry at all.
Come, that's enough, that's enough." Pyotr Stepanovitch started up
apprehensively, putting out his hand.

Kirillov subsided and began walking up and down again.

"I won't put it off; I want to kill myself now: all are scoundrels."

"Well, that's an idea; of course all are scoundrels; and since life is a
beastly thing for a decent man..."

"Fool, I am just such a scoundrel as you, as all, not a decent man.
There's never been a decent man anywhere."

"H