your disposal, that I want too to be of use to your cause, that I am ready to do anything that is wanted, to go where I am ordered, that I have always, with my whole soul, yearned for the thing that you . . .'
She too was silent. Another word, and tears of emotion would have fallen in floods. All her strong nature was suddenly soft as wax. The thirst for activity, for sacrifice, immediate sacrifice─that was what mastered her.
The steps of some one in the corridor could be heard─cautious, rapid, light steps.
Marianna suddenly drew herself up, freed her hands; she was at once transformed and alert. Something scornful, something audacious came over her face.
'I know Who is spying on us at this minute,' she said, so loudly that each of her words resounded distinctly in the corridor. Madame Sipyagin is spying on us . . . but I don't care a bit for that.'
The sound of steps ceased.
'What then?' Marianna said, turning to Nezhdanov, 'what am I to do? how am I to help you? Tell me . . . tell me soon! What's to be done?'
`What?' said Nezhdanov; 'I don't know yet . . . I got a letter from Markelov.'
'When? when?'
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