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stayed for about half-an-hour, the visitor rose,
made a stiff bow to all the ladies, and left
without shaking hands with anybody.
Aniuta was very disappointed at having her
pleasure spoilt in this way, and her mother felt
miserable and guilty, though she scarcely knew
why.
Dostojevsky’s appearance and manners had
left an unfavourable impression. Though a man
of little more than forty, he looked rather old
and worn; he kept pulling his thin yellow beard
and biting his lips, and his conversation was
anything but amiable.
However, some days after, he repeated his
visit, and this time was fortunate enough to find
the two sisters alone. He seized Aniuta’s hands,
and they sat down on the sofa, and talked
together like old friends. Tania sat by in silence,
her eyes riveted on Fedor Michajlovitsch, and
drinking in every word he said with intense
interest. How changed he was this time! He
looked so young, was so simple, amiable, and
natural in his manners, and so fascinating.
Tania was quite taken with him.
‘What a sweet little sister you have got!’ he
said, quite unexpectedly, to Aniuta, and now
Aniuta got quite warm in praise of her sister;
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