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unfortunate. We were too ready to make every sacrifice for
an unworthy, perhaps, or fickle man. There was one man
— one, an officer too, we loved him, we sacrificed everything
to him. That was long ago, five years ago, and he has forgot-
ten us, he has married. Now he is a widower, he has written,
he is coming here, and, do you know, we’ve loved him, none
but him, all this time, and we’ve loved him all our life! He
will come, and Grushenka will be happy again. For the
last five years she’s been wretched. But who can reproach
her, who can boast of her favour? Only that bedridden old
merchant, but he is more like her father, her friend, her pro-
tector. He found her then in despair, in agony, deserted by
the man she loved. She was ready to drown herself then, but
the old merchant saved her- saved her!’
‘You defend me very kindly, dear young lady. You are in a
great hurry about everything,’ Grushenka drawled again.
‘Defend you! Is it for me to defend you? Should I dare to
defend you? Grushenka, angel, give me your hand. Look at
that charming soft little hand, Alexey Fyodorovitch! Look
at it! It has brought me happiness and has lifted me up, and
I’m going to kiss it, outside and inside, here, here, here!’
And three times she kissed the certainly charming,
though rather fat, hand of Grushenka in a sort of rapture.
She held out her hand with a charming musical, nervous
little laugh, watched the ‘sweet young lady,’ and obviously
liked having her hand kissed.
‘Perhaps there’s rather too much rapture,’ thought Alyo-
sha. He blushed. He felt a peculiar uneasiness at heart the
whole time.