MÍTYA. He's a man—from what I hear—not a very great catch! There's nothing good to be heard of him—except what's bad.
PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. I know, Mítya dear, I know.
MÍTYA. Well, from all accounts, I must say this, that most likely Lyubóv Gordéyevna, married to such a man, and living far away from you, will absolutely perish—no doubt of it.
PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Oh, don't speak of it to me, don't speak of it! I'm distracted enough about it without your saying anything. I've worn my eyes out with gazing at her! If I could only look at her enough to last me forever! It's as if I were getting ready to bury her.
MÍTYA. [Nearly weeping] How can such things happen? How can people do such things? She's your own daughter, I suppose!
PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. If she weren't my own, then I shouldn't be weeping and wailing, and my heart wouldn't be breaking over her tears.
MÍTYA. Why weep? It would be better not to marry her. Why are you ruining the girl's life, and giving her into slavery? Isn't this a sin? You will have to answer for it to God.
PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. I know, I know it all, but I tell you, Mítya, it's not my doing. Why do you keep on blaming me? It's horrible enough for me without your talking about it, and you stir me up still more. Mítya, you should pity me!
MÍTYA. It's true, Pelagéya Egórovna, but I can't endure this sorrow. Maybe it's worse for me than for you! I trust you so much, Pelagéya Egórovna, that I will open my heart to you as if you were my own mother. [Dries his eyes with his handkerchief] Yesterday evening, when you were having the evening party. [Tears prevent him from speaking]
PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Well, well, tell me, tell me!