We sat together all
alone in the flat, and she had her hand in mine, just as we used to do
in the old days when I pretended to myself that she loved me. Now I know
that she did not, but the warmer and more marvellous was her kindness to
me, her goodness, and nobility. Do you not think, Ivan Andreievitch,
that if you go deep enough in every human heart, there is this kernel of
goodness, this fidelity to some ideal. Do you know we have a proverb:
"In each man's heart there is a secret town at whose altars the true
prayers are offered!" Even perhaps with Alexei it is so, only there you
must go very deep, and there is no time.
But I must tell you about Vera. She told me so kindly that he was going
to England, and that now her whole life would be led in Nina and myself.
I held her hand very close in mine and asked her, Was it really true
that she loved him. And she said, yes she did, but that that she could
not help. She said that she had spoken with him, and that they had
decided that it would be best for him to go away. Then she begged my
forgiveness for many things, because she had been harsh or cross,--I
don't know what things.
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