"You wouldn't dare!" she cried. "It's none of your business, Ivan
Andreievitch. You say you're my friend. You're not. You're my enemy--my
enemy. I don't care for him, not in the very least--he is nothing to
me--nothing to me at all. But he mustn't go back to England. It will
ruin his career. You will ruin him for life, Ivan Andreievitch. What
business is it of yours? You imagine--because of what you fancied you
saw at Nina's party. There was nothing at Nina's party--nothing. I love
my husband, Ivan Andreievitch, and you are my enemy if you say anything
else. And you pretend to be his friend, but you are his enemy if you try
to have him sent back to England.... He must not go. For the matter of
that, I will never see him again--never--if that is what you want. See,
I promise you never--never--" She suddenly broke down--she, Vera
Michailovna, the proudest woman I had ever known, turning from me, her
head in her hands, sobbing, her shoulders bent.
I was most deeply moved. I could say nothing at first, then, when the
sound of her sobbing became unbearable to me, I murmured,
"Vera, please. I have no power.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251