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作者: Fyodor Dostoevsky

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He had only been a tiny bit masterful, had not even time to speak
out, had simply made a joke, been carried away--and it had ended
so seriously. And, of course, too, he did love Dounia in his own
way; he already possessed her in his dreams--and all at once! No!
The next day, the very next day, it must all be set right,
smoothed over, settled. Above all he must crush that conceited
milksop who was the cause of it all. With a sick feeling he could
not help recalling Razumihin too, but, he soon reassured himself
on that score; as though a fellow like that could be put on a
level with him! The man he really dreaded in earnest was
Svidrigailov.... He had, in short, a great deal to attend to....
*****
"No, I, I am more to blame than anyone!" said Dounia, kissing and
embracing her mother. "I was tempted by his money, but on my
honour, brother, I had no idea he was such a base man. If I had
seen through him before, nothing would have tempted me! Don't
blame me, brother!"

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