Next day I was ready again to look upon it all as nonsense, due to overexcited nerves, and, above all, as exaggerated . I was always conscious of that weak point of mine, and sometimes very much afraid of it. “I exaggerate everything, that is where I go wrong,” I repeated to myself every hour. But, however, “Liza will very likely come all the same,” was the refrain with which all my reflections ended. I was so uneasy that I sometimes flew into a fury: “She’ll come, she is certain to come!” I cried, running about the room, “if not today, she will come tomorrow; she’ll find me out! The damnable romanticism of these pure hearts! Oh, the vileness⁠—oh, the silliness⁠—oh, the stupidity of these ‘wretched sentimental souls!’ Why, how fail to understand? How could one fail to understand?⁠ ⁠…”

But at this point I stopped short, and in great confusion, indeed.