“Now, that’s going too far! I’ve simply not had time enough to see where I am.”
“You are simply an empty man,” said Luba, resolutely and firmly.
“You were not within my soul,” replied Foma, calmly. “You cannot know my thoughts.”
“What is there that you should think of?” said Luba, shrugging her shoulders.
“So? First of all, I am alone. Secondly, I must live. Don’t I understand that it is altogether impossible for me to live as I am now? I do not care to be made the laughing-stock of others. I cannot even speak to people. No, nor can I think.” Foma concluded his words and smiled confusedly.
“It is necessary to read, to study,” Luba advised him convincingly, pacing up and down the room.
“Something is stirring within my soul,” Foma went on, not looking at her, as though speaking to himself; “but I cannot tell what it is. I see, for instance, that whatever my godfather says is clever and reasonable. But that does not attract me. The other people are by far more interesting to me.”
“You mean the aristocrats?” asked Luba.
“Yes.”
“That’s just the place for you!” said Luba, with a smile of contempt. “Eh, you! Are they men? Do they have souls?”