I
used to think--that's where I'll taste the real thing! I did not
get her--and, it may be, if I had succeeded, all would have taken
a different turn. I yearned toward her. I thought--I could not
tear myself away. While now that I have given myself to drink,
I've drowned her in wine--I am forgetting her--and that also is
wrong. 0 man! You are a rascal, to be frank."
Foma became silent and sank into meditation. And Sasha rose from
the bench and paced the hut to and fro, biting her lips. Then she
stopped short before him, and, clasping her hands to her head,
said:
"Do you know what? I'll leave you."
"Where will you go?" asked Foma, without lifting his head.
"I don't know--it's all the same!"
"But why?"
"You're always saying unnecessary things. It is lonesome with
you. You make me sad."
Foma lifted his head, looked at her and burst into mournful
laughter.
"Really? Is it possible?"
"You do make me sad! Do you know? If I should reflect on it, I
would understand what you say and why you say it--for I am also
of that sort--when the time comes, I shall also think of all
this.
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