“Love her? Of course!” said Sonia with plaintive emphasis, and she clasped her hands in distress. “Ah, you don’t.⁠ ⁠… If you only knew! You see, she is quite like a child.⁠ ⁠… Her mind is quite unhinged, you see⁠ ⁠… from sorrow. And how clever she used to be⁠ ⁠… how generous⁠ ⁠… how kind! Ah, you don’t understand, you don’t understand!”

Sonia said this as though in despair, wringing her hands in excitement and distress. Her pale cheeks flushed, there was a look of anguish in her eyes. It was clear that she was stirred to the very depths, that she was longing to speak, to champion, to express something. A sort of insatiable compassion, if one may so express it, was reflected in every feature of her face.