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lifted the curtain which separated it from the
other apartments; — and what did she see?
Aniuta and Dostojevsky sitting together on the
sofa! the room was dimly lighted, and Aniuta’s
face was hidden by the lamp-shade, but
Dostojevsky’s face was seen distinctly—it was pale
and excited; he was holding Aniuta’s hand, and
bending towards her; he spoke in a passionate
whisper.
‘Anna Ivanovna, don’t you understand that I
have loved you from the first moment I saw
you; nay, before I saw you, when I read your
letters? I love you, not as a friend—no,
passionately, with all my heart—’
And Tania! She nearly fainted. A bitter
feeling of loneliness came over her; she felt
deeply wronged; all the blood rushed to her
heart and then to her head.
She dropped the curtain and rushed out of the
room, upsetting a chair in her hurry.
Her sister started. ‘Is it you, Tania?’ she
said. But Tania neither answered nor stopped
till she reached her own room at the other end
of the house. She tore off her dress, fell on her
bed and buried her face in the pillows.
Her heart was overflowing. Till now she had
never fully realised her feeling for Dostojevsky,
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