to save you from excitement. My life consists of my love for you; so you should not make life impossible for me.”
“You are always in the right,” I said without looking at him.
I was vexed again by his calmness and coolness while I was conscious of annoyance and some feeling akin to penitence.
“Másha, what is the matter?” he asked. “The question is not, which of us is in the right—not at all; but rather, what grievance have you against me? Take time before you answer, and tell me all that is in your mind. You are dissatisfied with me: and you are, no doubt, right; but let me understand what I have done wrong.”
But how could I put my feeling into words? That he understood me at once, that I again stood before him like a child, that I could do nothing without his understanding and foreseeing it—all this only increased my agitation.