“Nastasya, why don’t you speak?” he said timidly at last in a weak voice.
“It’s the blood,” she answered at last softly, as though speaking to herself.
“Blood? What blood?” he muttered, growing white and turning towards the wall.
Nastasya still looked at him without speaking.
“Nobody has been beating the landlady,” she declared at last in a firm, resolute voice.
He gazed at her, hardly able to breathe.
“I heard it myself.... I was not asleep... I was sitting up,” he said still more timidly. “I listened a long while. The assistant superintendent came.... Everyone ran out on to the stairs from all the flats.”