Lavretsky began to assure Liza that he had never dreamt of doing so—that he profoundly respected all convictions. After that he took to talking about religion, about its significance in the history of humanity, of the meaning of Christianity.
"One must be a Christian," said Liza, not without an effort, "not in order to recognize what is heavenly, or what is earthly, but because every one must die."
With an involuntary movement of surprise, Lavretsky raised his eyes to
Liza's, and met her glance.
"What does that phrase of yours mean?" he said.
"It is not my phrase," she replied.
"Not yours? But why did you speak about death?"
"I don't know. I often think about it."
"Often?"
"Yes."
"One wouldn't say so, looking at you now. Your face seems so happy, so bright, and you smile—"