“You are very pretty, Olia!” I sighed. “It's a pity and an insult that you're so pretty!”
“Why is it a pity?”
“The devil only knows who's got you.”
“But what do you want more? Am not I yours? Here I am.… Listen, Serezha!… Will you tell me the truth if I ask you?”
“Of course, only the truth.”
“Would you have married me if I had not married Pëtr Egorych?”
“Probably not,” I wanted to say, but why should I probe the painful wound in poor Olia's heart that was already so troubled?
“Certainly,” I said in the tone of a man speaking the truth.
Olia sighed and cast her eyes down.
“What a mistake I've made! What a mistake! And what's worst of all it can't be rectified! I suppose I can't get divorced from him?”