Explore "Poor People" by Fyodor Dostoevsky on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
28th July
Ah, Varenka, Varenka! It's just precisely now that the fault is on your part and will remain on your conscience. You knocked the last bit of sense out of me with your letter, perplexed me, and it's only now, when I've delved into the depths of my heart at leisure, that I've seen that I was right, I was absolutely right. I'm not talking about my shindy (forget it, my dear, forget it), but about the fact that I love you and that it wasn't at all unwise for me to love you, not at all unwise. You don't know anything, my dear, but if you only knew why it all is, why it is that I should love you, then you'd have said something else. You're just saying all this reasonable stuff, but I'm sure that in your heart there's something else entirely.