tried, found guilty, deprived of his rank . . . and everything─and sent to Siberia. Then he died . . . my mother died too. My uncle, Mr. Sipyagin, my mother's brother, took care of me; I live at his expense; he's my benefactor and Valentina Mihalovna's my benefactress─and I repay them with the blackest ingratitude, because, I suppose, I have a hard heart─and the bread of charity is bitter─and I'm not good at bearing insulting condescension─and I can't put up with patronage . . . and I'm not good at hiding things; and when I'm for ever being hurt with little pin-pricks, I only keep from crying out because I'm too proud.'
As she uttered these disconnected sentences, Marianna walked more and more rapidly. All at once she stood still.
`Do you know that my aunt─simply to get me off her hands─means to marry me . . . to that loathsome Kallomyetsev? Of course she knows my ideas─why, in her eyes, I'm a Nihilist!─while he, I'm not attractive to him, of course I'm not pretty, you see; but I might be sold. That would be another act of charity, you know.'
'Why then didn't you . . .' Nezhdanov began, and he hesitated.
Marianna glanced at him for a moment. Why didn't I accept Mr. Markelov's offer, do
147
