.. I always feel an interloper
here. This is only my second day and I am already depressed." Her
tone was sad, yet it held just a perceptible note of anger.
"Reality and Fancy? Certainly I am an artist, for I always see the
latter, the beautiful and spiritual side," Mintz declared; and added
in an undertone: "Do you remember yesterday ... the park?"
"Oh, yes, the park," Lydia replied in a tired, subdued tone. "They
hold the Twelfth Gospel Service to-day; when I was a young girl, how
I used to love standing in church with a candle--I felt so good. And
now I love nothing!"
It was already quite dark in the drawing room. A wavering, greenish-
golden light streamed in through the windows and played on the dim
walls. Ivanov came out of his study. He was wearing high boots and a
leather jacket, and carried a rifle under his arm. He went silently
to the door. Lydia Constantinovna stopped him.
"Are you going out again, Sergius? Is it to hunt?"
"Yes."
Ivanov stood still and Lydia went up to him. She had dark shadows
under her eyes, and the hand of time--already bearing away her youth
and beauty--lay upon her marvellously white skin, at her lips and on
her cheeks, in faint, scarcely visible wrinkles. Ivanov noticed it
distinctly.
"Does one hunt at night--in the dark? I did not know that," Lydia
said, repeating "I did not know.
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