Stavrogin tried to pull away his arm, but did not succeed.

He was overcome with fury.

Seizing Verhovensky by the hair with his left hand he flung him with all his might on the ground and went out at the gate.

But he had not gone thirty paces before Verhovensky overtook him again.
"Let us make it up; let us make it up!" he murmured in a spasmodic whisper.
Stavrogin shrugged his shoulders, but neither answered nor turned round.
"Listen.

I will bring you Lizaveta Nikolaevna to-morrow; shall I?
No?
Why don't you answer?
Tell me what you want.