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"
"Yes, he is clever. And yet he does not understand how painful my
life is," said Lubov, sadly.
"Neither do I understand it. You imagine too much."
"What do I imagine?" cried the girl, irritated.
"Why, all these are not your own ideas. They are someone else's."
"Someone else's. Someone else's."
She felt like saying something harsh; but broke down and became
silent. Foma looked at her and, setting Medinskaya by her side,
thought sadly:
"How different everything is--both men and women--and you never
feel alike."
They sat opposite each other; both were lost in thought, and
neither one looked at the other. It was getting dark outside, and
in the room it was quite dark already. The wind was shaking the
linden-trees, and their branches seemed to clutch at the walls of
the house, as though they felt cold and implored for shelter in the
rooms.
"Luba!" said Foma, softly.
She raised her head and looked at him.
"Do you know, I have quarrelled with Medinskaya."
"Why?" asked Luba, brightening up.
"So. It came about that she offended me.


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