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المؤلف: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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اضغط ابدأ واكتب السطور بدقة. · مفتاح الرجوع معطل — استمر حتى بعد الخطأ.

"It is not true. I am not lying," cried Dounia, losing her
composure. "I would not marry him if I were not convinced that he
esteems me and thinks highly of me. I would not marry him if I
were not firmly convinced that I can respect him. Fortunately, I
can have convincing proof of it this very day... and such a
marriage is not a vileness, as you say! And even if you were
right, if I really had determined on a vile action, is it not
merciless on your part to speak to me like that? Why do you
demand of me a heroism that perhaps you have not either? It is
despotism; it is tyranny. If I ruin anyone, it is only myself....
I am not committing a murder. Why do you look at me like that?
Why are you so pale? Rodya, darling, what's the matter?"
"Good heavens! You have made him faint," cried Pulcheria
Alexandrovna.

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