“Again!” she commanded, pointing with a peremptory gesture to the spot where Nikoláy had placed the kiss.
“I don’t know why you think I am cross,” said Nikoláy, replying to the question he knew was in his wife’s mind.
“You have no idea how unhappy, how lonely, I feel when you are like that. It always seems to me …”
“Márya, don’t talk nonsense. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” he said gaily.
“It seems to be that you can’t love me, that I am so plain … always … and now … in this cond …”
“Oh, how absurd you are! It is not beauty that endears, it’s love that makes us see beauty. It is only Malvina and women of that kind who are loved for their beauty. But do I love my wife? I don’t love her, but … I don’t