pity for him, and that is a poor sign of love. If I loved him, if I still loved him, perhaps I shouldn’t be sorry for him now, but should hate
Her voice quivered, and tears glittered on her eyelashes. Alyosha shuddered inwardly.
“That girl is truthful and sincere,” he thought, “and she does not love Dmitri any more.”
“That’s true, that’s true,” cried Madame Hohlakov.
“Wait, dear. I haven’t told you the chief, the final decision I came to during the night. I feel that perhaps my decision is a terrible one—for me, but I foresee that nothing will induce me to change it—nothing. It will be so all my life. My dear, kind, ever-faithful and generous adviser, the one friend I have in the world, Ivan Fyodorovitch, with his deep insight into the heart, approves and commends my decision. He knows it.”
“Yes, I approve of it,” Ivan