They made constant efforts, each in turn, to reject the responsibility of the crime, defending themselves as though they were before a judge and jury, and accusing one another.
The strangest part of this attitude was that they did not succeed in duping themselves by their oaths.

Both had a perfect recollection of all the circumstances connected with the murder, and their eyes avowed what their lips denied.
Their falsehoods were puerile, their affirmations ridiculous.

It was the wordy dispute of two wretches who lied for the sake of lying, without succeeding in concealing from themselves that they did so.

Each took the part of accuser in turn, and although the prosecution they instituted against one another proved barren of result, they began it again every evening with cruel tenacity.
They were aware that they would prove nothing, that they would not succeed in effacing the past, and still they attempted this task, still they returned to the charge, spurred on by pain and terror, vanquished in advance by overwhelming reality.

The sole advantage they derived from their disputes, consisted in producing a tempest of words and cries, and the riot occasioned in this manner momentarily deafened them.
And all the time their anger lasted, all the time they were accusing one another, the paralysed woman never ceased to gaze at them.