he said, and when she had quite grasped it she touched his hand, smiling
pityingly, and said:

'Perhaps you exaggerate, Stiva?'

'No, Pashenka. I am an adulterer, a murderer, a blasphemer, and a
deceiver.'

'My God! How is that?' exclaimed Praskovya Mikhaylovna.

'But I must go on living. And I, who thought I knew everything, who
taught others how to live--I know nothing and ask you to teach me.'

'What are you saying, Stiva? You are laughing at me. Why do you always
make fun of me?'

'Well, if you think I am jesting you must have it as you please. But
tell me all the same how you live, and how you have lived your life.'

'I? I have lived a very nasty, horrible life, and now God is punishing
me as I deserve. I live so wretchedly, so wretchedly . . .'

'How was it with your marriage? How did you live with your husband?'

'It was all bad. I married because I fell in love in the nastiest way.
Papa did not approve. But I would not listen to anything and just
got married. Then instead of helping my husband I tormented him by my
jealousy, which I could not restrain.'

'I heard that he drank . . .'