Lialia was silent.
A bat darted backwards and forwards beneath the balcony, unseen, struck the wall repeatedly with its wings and then, with faint fluttering, vanished. Yourii listened to all these strange noises of the night, and then he continued speaking with increasing bitterness. The very of his voice drew him on.
“The worst of it is that not only do they all know this, and tacitly agree that it must be so, but they enact complete tragi-comedies, allowing themselves to become betrothed, and then lying to God and man. It is always the purest and most innocent girls, too,” (he was thinking jealously of Sina Karsavina) “who become the prey of the vilest debauchees, tainted physically and morally. Semenoff once said to me, ‘the purer the woman, the filthier the man who possesses her,’ and he was right.”
“Is that true?” asked Lialia, in a strange tone.
“Yes, most assuredly it is.” Yourii smiled bitterly.
“I know nothing—nothing about it,” faltered Lialia, with tears in her voice.
“What?” cried Yourii, for he had not heard her remark.
“Surely Tolia is not like the rest? It’s impossible.”
She had never spoken of him by his pet name to Yourii before. Then, all at once, she began to weep.
Touched by her distress, Yourii seized her hand.