"I know you do not wish to speak to me. I am bored ...
I returned here in a happy mood, not even thinking of you, and now
all at once I feel wretched.... Oh, those perfumes! How they torment
me...." She passed her hand over her face, then was silent. Ivanov
sat up.
"What is the matter Lida? What do you want?" he asked drowsily, and
he lighted a cigarette. The light shone on them as they sat half-
dressed on the sofa. Ivanov had a rugged, lumbering look.
"What do I want?" Lydia Constantinovna murmured. "Age creeps on me,
Sergius, and a lonely old age is terrible ... I feel so weary.... I
came here happy enough, now I am miserable. I can think of nothing
but the time you and I spent here together ... I am always playing" A
Summer's Night in Berezovka "--do you remember? I used to play it to
you in those days.... Well, so there you see.... Age creeps on and I
am longing for a home.... To-day they had the Twelfth Gospel
Service.... Surely we still have a word for each other?" Her face
clouded in sudden doubt. "You have been with Arina then?" she
questioned sharply.
Ivanov did not answer immediately.
"I have grieved and worried greatly, Lida," he said at last, "but
that does not matter. These four years I have lived alone, and have
placed the past behind me. It is gone for ever. These four years I
have struggled against death, and struggled for my daily bread.
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