"I am asking you, what presents did you make me?" Pasha cried.

"My God! She, a lady, so proud, so pure. . . . She was ready to go
down on her knees to . . . to this wench! And I've brought her to
this! I've allowed it!"

He clutched his head in his hands and moaned.

"No, I shall never forgive myself for this! I shall never forgive
myself! Get away from me . . . you low creature!" he cried with
repulsion, backing away from Pasha, and thrusting her off with
trembling hands. "She would have gone down on her knees, and . . .
and to you! Oh, my God!"

He rapidly dressed, and pushing Pasha aside contemptuously, made
for the door and went out.

Pasha lay down and began wailing aloud. She was already regretting
her things which she had given away so impulsively, and her feelings
were hurt. She remembered how three years ago a merchant had beaten
her for no sort of reason, and she wailed more loudly than ever.


VEROTCHKA

IVAN ALEXEYITCH OGNEV remembers how on that August evening he opened
the glass door with a rattle and went out on to the verandah. He
was wearing a light Inverness cape and a wide-brimmed straw hat,
the very one that was lying with his top-boots in the dust under
his bed. In one hand he had a big bundle of books and notebooks,