“There is something spiteful and yet open‐hearted about you,” Alyosha smiled to her.
“The open‐heartedness consists in my not being ashamed of myself with you. What’s more, I don’t want to feel ashamed with you, just with you. Alyosha, why is it I don’t respect you? I am very fond of you, but I don’t respect you. If I respected you, I shouldn’t talk to you without shame, should I?”
“No.”
“But do you believe that I am not ashamed with you?”
“No, I don’t believe it.”
Lise laughed nervously again; she spoke rapidly.
“I sent your brother, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, some sweets in prison. Alyosha, you know, you are quite pretty! I shall love you awfully for having so quickly allowed me not to love you.”
“Why did you send for me to‐day, Lise?”
“I wanted to tell you of a longing I have. I should like some one to torture me, marry me and then torture me, deceive me and go away. I don’t want to be happy.”
“You are in love with disorder?”