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Sonia said this as though in despair, wringing her hands in

excitement and distress. Her pale cheeks flushed, there was a

look of anguish in her eyes. It was clear that she was stirred to

the very depths, that she was longing to speak, to champion, to

express something. A sort of insatiable compassion, if one may so

express it, was reflected in every feature of her face.

"Beat me! how can you? Good heavens, beat me! And if she did beat

me, what then? What of it? You know nothing, nothing about it....

She is so unhappy... ah, how unhappy! And ill.... She is seeking

righteousness, she is pure. She has such faith that there must be

righteousness everywhere and she expects it.... And if you were

to torture her, she wouldn't do wrong. She doesn't see that it's

impossible for people to be righteous and she is angry at it.

Like a child, like a child. She is good!"

"And what will happen to you?"

Sonia looked at him inquiringly.