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Foma looked at her, smiling good-naturedly. And she answered him
with a vague smile.
Her eyes looked fatigued and sad.
"You still keep on reading?" asked Foma.
"Yes," the girl answered sadly.
"And are you still lonesome?"
"I feel disgusted, because I am alone. There's no one here to say a
word to."
"That's bad."
She said nothing to this, but, lowering her head, she slowly began
to finger the fringes of the towel.
"You ought to get married," said Foma, feeling that he pitied her.
"Leave me alone, please," answered Lubov, wrinkling her forehead.
"Why leave you alone? You will get married, I am sure."
"There!" exclaimed the girl softly, with a sigh. "That's just what
I am thinking of--it is necessary. That is, I'll have to get
married. But how? Do you know, I feel now as though a mist stood
between other people and myself--a thick, thick mist!"
"That's from your books," Foma interposed confidently.
"Wait! And I cease to understand what is going on about me. Nothing
pleases me. Everything has become strange to me.


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