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RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 143
bitter solitude, of deadly insult, suddenly took
possession of me, and all the blood in my body seemed to
rush first to my heart, and then to pour, in a burning
flood, to my head.
I dropped the portière and fled from the room. I
heard the crash of a chair -which I had accidentally
overthrown.
" Is that you, Sönya 1" cried my sister’s voice, in a
tone of alarm. But I made no reply, and did not halt
until I had reached our bedroom, in the other
extremity of the apartment, at the end of a long corridor.
"When I stopped running, I immediately began to
undress in great haste, without lighting the candle,
fairly tearing off my clothes, and, still half-dressed,
I flung myself into the bed and hid my head under
the coverlet. At that moment I feared but one thing
— that my sister would come and call me back to the
drawing-room. I could not see them now.
A hitherto unknown sensation of bitterness, insult,
and shame filled my soul to overflowing, and
especially the shame and insult. Up to that moment I
had not, even in my most secret thoughts, accounted
to myself for the nature of my feelings toward
Dostoévsky, and had never said to myself that I was in
love with him.
Although I was only thirteen years old, I had
already heard and read a good deal about love, but for
some reason or other it had seemed to me that people
fell in love in books, but not in real life. As for
Dostoévsky, I had imagined that things would always go
on all our lives as they had been going on for the last
three months.
"And all at once, at one blow, all is ended!" I
kept repeating to myself in my despair; and only
now, when all seemed to me irretrievably lost, did
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