Ivan Mikhailovich, if you really love and respect me I implore you to stop pursuing me! You follow me like a shadow—there's such a wicked look in your eye—you make love to me—write extraordinary letters and . . . I don't know how all this is going to—end Good Heavens! What can all this lead to?"
Ilyin was silent. Sophia Pietrovna took a few steps and continued:
"And this sudden complete change has happened in two or three weeks after five years of friendship. I do not know you any more, Ivan Mikhailovich."
Sophia Pietrovna glanced sideways at her companion. He was staring intently, screwing up his eyes at the feathery clouds. The expression of his face was angry, capricious and distracted, like that of a man who suffers and at the same time must listen to nonsense.
"It is annoying that you yourself can't realise it!" Madame Loubianzev continued, shrugging her shoulders. "Please understand that you're not playing a very nice game. I am married, I love and respect my husband. I have a daughter. Don't you really care in the slightest for all this? Besides, as an old friend, you know my views on family life . . . on the sanctity of the home, generally."
Ilyin gave an angry grunt and sighed:
"The sanctity of the home," he murmured, "Good Lord!"
