'I'll tell you what's the meaning of it,' he retorted, underlining as
it were each word. 'Yesterday I showed you a pocket-book containing
letters from a certain person to me.... To-day you repeated to that
person, with reproach--with reproach, observe--some expressions from
those letters, without having the slightest right to do so. I should
like to know what explanation you can give of this?'
'And I should like to know what right you have to cross-examine me,' I
answered, trembling with fury and inward shame.
'You chose to boast of your uncle, of your correspondence; I'd nothing
to do with it. You've got all your letters all right, haven't you?'
'The letters are all right; but I was yesterday in a condition in which
you could easily----'
'In short, sir,' I began, speaking intentionally as loud as I could, 'I
beg you to leave me alone, do you hear? I don't want to know anything
about it, and I'm not going to give you any explanation. You can go to
that person for explanations!' I felt that my head was beginning to go
round.
Asanov turned upon me a look to which he obviously tried to impart an
air of scornful penetration, pulled his moustaches, and got up slowly.
'I know now what to think,' he observed; 'your face is the best
evidence against you. But I must tell you that that's not the way
honourable people behave.... To read a letter on the sly, and then to
go and worry an honourable girl....'
'Will you go to the devil!' I shouted, stamping, 'and send me a second;
I don't mean to talk to you.'
'Kindly refrain from telling me what to do,' Asanov retorted frigidly;
'but I certainly will send a second to you.'
He went away. I fell on the sofa and hid my face in my hands. Some one
touched me on the shoulder; I moved my hands--before me was standing
Pasinkov.
'What's this? is it true?' ... he asked me. 'You read another man's
letter?'