"
At the recollection of her brother she felt still more grieved,
still more sorry for herself. She had written to Taras a long,
exultant letter, in which she had spoken of her love for him, of
her hope in him; imploring her brother to come as soon as
possible to see his father, she had pictured to him plans of
arranging to live together, assuring Taras that their father was
extremely clever and understood everything; she told about his
loneliness, had gone into ecstasy over his aptitude for life and
had, at the same time, complained of his attitude toward her.
For two weeks she impatiently expected a reply, and when she had
received and read it she burst out sobbing for joy and
disenchantment. The answer was dry and short; in it Taras said
that within a month he would be on the Volga on business and
would not fail to call on his father, if the old man really had
no objection to it. The letter was cold, like a block of ice;
with tears in her eyes she perused it over and over again,
rumpled it, creased it, but it did not turn warmer on this
account, it only became wet.
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