When she went into Kitty's little room, a pretty, pink little

room, full of knick-knacks in _vieux saxe,_ as fresh, and pink,

and white, and gay as Kitty herself had been two months ago,

Dolly remembered how they had decorated the room the year before

together, with what love and gaiety. Her heart turned cold when

she saw Kitty sitting on a low chair near the door, her eyes

fixed immovably on a corner of the rug. Kitty glanced at her

sister, and the cold, rather ill-tempered expression of her face

did not change.

"I'm just going now, and I shall have to keep in and you won't be

able to come to see me," said Dolly, sitting down beside her. "I

want to talk to you."

"What about?" Kitty asked swiftly, lifting her head in dismay.

"What should it be, but your trouble?"

"I have no trouble."

"Nonsense, Kitty. Do you suppose I could help knowing? I know

all about it. And believe me, it's of so little

consequence.... We've all been through it."

Kitty did not speak, and her face had a stern expression.

"He's not worth your grieving over him," pursued Darya

Alexandrovna, coming straight to the point.

"No, because he has treated me with contempt," said Kitty, in a

breaking voice. "Don't talk of it! Please, don't talk of it!"

"But who can have told you so? No one has said that. I'm

certain he was in love with you, and would still be in love with

you, if it hadn't...

"Oh, the most awful thing of all for me is this sympathizing!"

shrieked Kitty, suddenly flying into a passion. She turned round

on her chair, flushed crimson, and rapidly moving her fingers,

pinched the clasp of her belt first with one hand and then with

the other. Dolly knew this trick her sister had of clenching her

hands when she was much excited; she knew, too, that in moments

of excitement Kitty was capable of forgetting herself and saying

a great deal too much, and Dolly would have soothed her, but it

was too late.

"What, what is it you want to make me feel, eh?" said Kitty

quickly. "That I've been in love with a man who didn't care a

straw for me, and that I'm dying of love for him? And this is

said to me by my own sister, who imagines that...that...that

she's sympathizing with me!...I don't want these condolences

and humbug!"

"Kitty, you're unjust."




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