“But I bawled at her, stamped my feet, dragged her into the hall, and locked the door. ‘Go back!’ I shouted, ‘to thy husband. Do not shame me before the people! Have the fear of God in thy heart.’ And every day this history was repeated. I stood one morning in the yard near the stable and mended a bridle. Suddenly up I looked, and saw her running through the gate, bare-footed, with nothing on but a petticoat. Straight up to me she ran, seized the bridle, and got covered with tar, and trembling all over, howled, ‘I cannot live with that brute! It is beyond my strength. If thou no longer lovest me, then kill me!’ It was too much for my patience. I struck her twice with the bridle. But at that moment in runs Vasya and cries despairingly, ‘Don't strike her, don't strike her!’ But he himself seemed to have gone out of his mind, for, flourishing his arms, he began to beat her with his clenched fists with all his might, then flung her down in the dust, and trampled her into it. I tried to defend her, but he seized hold of the reins, and beat her without mercy. Beat her as he'd beat a horse, gee, gee, gee!”
“A good thing if they did it to you,” growled Varvara, walking away. “You murdered our sister between you, accursed!”
“Hold your tongue!” shouted Diudya. “Mare!”
“Gee, gee, gee!” continued Matvei Savvitch. “One of the draymen ran in from his yard; I called up some
