"Shut up with your whining!" he cried harshly; "I suffer, very likely, a thousand times more than you do, when I beat you.... Now be quiet, will you? If one gives in the least bit to a woman, she will take advantage of you at once. Leave off reproaching me! What is a man to do whose life is a burden to him?" Another time, perhaps, his heart would melt under the torrent of her tears, and pitiful complaints. Then he would say humbly and thoughtfully-- "What on earth am I to do, with the unfortunate disposition that I possess? I have hurt you often, that is certain.... I know very well that you are the only one in the world who cares for me, though I often seem to forget it But it's like this, Motrja; sometimes it seems as if I could no longer bear the sight of you ... as if I had had enough of you for ever. And then, such a rage comes into my soul, as if I could tear you and myself to pieces; and the more you are in the right, the stronger the desire grows in me to beat you." She did not quite understand what he meant to express; but the contrite, loving tone in which he spoke, touched her deeply. "God grant that we may both improve; that we may grow used to each other," she said. "Perhaps it would be better if we had a child ... then we should have something to care for, and to interest us," she continued with a sigh. "Well then, bring one into the world!" "How can I bear a child, when you knock me about so?... always striking me on the body and on the loins.... If only you would give up kicking me so constantly!..." "How can one arrange the exact place where one kicks a person?" Grischka tried to excuse himself in a grumbling voice. "At any rate I am not a brute! I don't do it for my pleasure, but only when that ache comes over me ... and I can't help myself then...." "How is it that that aching feeling comes over you?" asked Matrona gloomily.