Life is a tragedy to every Russian simply because the daily round is
forgotten by him in his pursuit of an ultimate meaning. We in the West
have learnt to despise ultimate meanings as unpractical and rather
priggish things.
Nina had thought so much and tested so little. She loved so vehemently
that her betrayal was the more inevitable. For instance, she did not
love Boris Grogoff in the least, but he was in some way connected with
the idea of freedom. She was, I am afraid, beginning to love Lawrence
desperately--the first love of her life--and he too was connected with
the idea of freedom because he was English. We English do not understand
sufficiently how the Russians love us for our easy victory over tyranny,
and despise us for the small use we have made of our victory--and then,
after all, there is something to be said for tyranny too....
But Nina did not see why she should not capture Lawrence. She felt her
vitality, her health, her dominant will beat so strongly within her that
it seemed to her that nothing could stop her. She loved him for his
strength, his silence, his good-nature, yes, and his stupidity.
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