like that among divinity students—the good ones.'
Nezhdanov described Solomin in detail. Marianna gazed a long . . . long time at Nezhdanov; then she said as though to herself: 'You have a good face too, I think; life would be sweet with you, Alexey.'
That saying touched Nezhdanov; he took her hand again, and was lifting it to his lips . . .
'Defer your civilities,' said Marianna smiling—she always smiled when her hand was kissed; 'you don't know; I've a sin to confess to you.'
'What have you done?'
'Why, in your absence I went into your room, and there on your table I saw a manuscript book of verses . . .'—(Nezhdanov started; he remembered that he had forgotten the book and left it on the table in his room)— 'and I must confess, I couldn't overcome my curiosity, and I read it. They are your verses, aren't they?'
'Yes; and do you know, Marianna, the best possible proof of how devoted I am to you and how I trust you, is that I'm hardly angry with you.'
'Hardly? Then, however little, you are angry? By the way, you call me Marianna—that's right; I can't call you Nezhdanov, I must call you Alexey. And the poem beginning:
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