It wasn't on thy money, accursed soul-murderer, wild beast, beast, beast!" "Akh, thou ...

I'll give it to thee!" "What do I care?
It's all one to me--I shall perish anyway; where can I go without a horse?
Kill me--it comes to the same thing; whether with hunger or thus, it makes no difference.
Deuce take them all: wife, children--let them all perish....
But just wait, thou shalt hear from us!" The Wolf half-rose to his feet.
"Kill, kill----" the peasant began again in a savage voice; "Kill, go ahead, kill...." (The little girl sprang up from the floor, and riveted her eyes on him.) "Kill, kill!" "Hold thy tongue!" thundered the forester, and advanced a couple of strides.
"Enough, that will do, Foma," I shouted--"let him alone....
Don't bother with him...." "I won't hold my tongue," went on the unfortunate man.

"It makes no difference how he murders me.

Thou soul-murderer, thou wild beast, hanging is too good for thee....

But just wait.
Thou hast not long to vaunt thyself! They'll strangle thy throat for thee.