She was beginning to inspire him with an indefinite uneasiness.

He said surlily, for he was busy with important thoughts: "What the devil _are_ you afraid of ?" "Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do!" cried the woman.
Distracted by the vividness of her dreadful apprehensions, her head ringing with forceful words, that kept the horror of her position before her mind, she had imagined her incoherence to be clearness itself.

She had no conscience of how little she had audibly said in the disjointed phrases completed only in her thought.

She had felt the relief of a full confession, and she gave a special meaning to every sentence spoken by Comrade Ossipon, whose knowledge did not in the least resemble her own.
"Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do!" Her voice fell.

"You needn't be long in guessing then what I am afraid of," she continued, in a bitter and sombre murmur.