I am certain of it." At the mention of Novikoff's name Lida
saw light through the gloom. Because Sarudine had made her unhappy, and
she was convinced that Novikoff would never have done so, for an
instant it seemed to her that all could easily be set right. She would
at once get up, go back, say something or other, and life in all its
radiant beauty would again lie before her. Again she would live, again
she would love, only this time it would be a better life, a deeper,
purer love. Yet immediately afterwards she recollected that this was
impossible, for she had been soiled and degraded by an ignoble,
senseless amour.
A gross word, which she scarcely knew and had never uttered, suddenly
came into her mind. She applied it to herself. It was as if she had
received a box on the ears.
"Great heavens! Am I really a ...? Yes, yes, of course, I am!"
"What did you say?" she murmured, ashamed of her own resonant voice.
"Well, what is it to be?" asked Sanine, as he glanced at her pretty
hair falling in disorder about her white neck flecked by sunlight
breaking through the network of leaves.
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