s.

"If, you wretched creature," he began in a hollow, wailing voice,
"you let him come here once again, I'll. . . . Don't let him dare
to set his foot. . . . I'll kill you. Do you understand? A-a-ah
. . . worthless creature, you shudder! Fil-thy woman!"

Bugrov seized her by the elbow, shook her, and flung her like an
indiarubber ball towards the window. . . .

"Wretched, vulgar woman! you have no shame!"

She flew towards the window, hardly touching the floor with her
feet, and caught at the curtains with her hands.

"Hold your tongue," shouted her husband, going up to her with
flashing eyes and stamping his foot.

She did hold her tongue, she looked at the ceiling, and whimpered
while her face wore the expression of a little girl in disgrace
expecting to be punished.

"So that's what you are like! Eh? Carrying on with a fop! Good! And
your promise before the altar? What are you? A nice wife and mother.
Hold your tongue!"

And he struck her on her pretty supple shoulder. "Hold your tongue,
you wretched creature. I'll give you worse than that! If that
scoundrel dares to show himself here ever again, if I see you--
listen!--with that blackguard ever again, don't ask for mercy!
I'll kill you, if I go to Siberia for it! And him too. I shouldn't
think twice about it! You can go, I don't want to see you!"

Bugrov wiped his eyes and his brow with his sleeve and strode about
the drawing-room, Liza sobbing more and more loudly, twitching her
shoulders and her little turned up nose, became absorbed in examining
the lace on the curtain.

"You are crazy," her husband shouted. "Your silly head is full of
nonsense! Nothing but whims! I won't allow it, Elizaveta, my girl!
You had better be careful with me! I don't like it! If you want to
behave like a pig, then . . . then out you go, there is no place
in my house for you! Out you pack if. . . . You are a wife, so you
must forget these dandies, put them out of your silly head! It's
all foolishness! Don't let it happen again! You try defending
yourself! Love your husband! You have been given to your husband,
so you must love him. Yes, indeed! Is one not enough? Go away till
. . . . Torturers!"

Bugrov paused; then shouted:

"Go away I tell you, go to the nursery! Why are you blubbering, it
is your own fault, and you blubber! What a woman! Last year you
were after Petka Totchkov, now you are after this devil. Lord forgive
us! . . . Tfoo, it's time you understood what y