‘Yes, Tanya, I am ruined. All the past, all that was precious, everything I have lived for up till now, is ruined for me; everything is wretched, everything is shattered, and I don’t know what awaits me in the future. You said just now that I no longer loved you.... No, Tanya, I have not ceased to love you, but a different, terrible, irresistible passion has come upon me, has overborne me. I fought against it while I could....’ Tatyana got up, her brows twitched, her pale face darkened. Litvinov too rose to his feet. ‘You love another woman,’ she began, ‘and I guess who she is.... We met her yesterday, didn’t we?... Well, I see what is left for me to do now. Since you say yourself this passion is unalterable’ ... (Tatyana paused an instant, possibly she had still hoped Litvinov would not let this last word pass unchallenged, but he said nothing), ‘it only remains for me to give you back ... your word.’ Litvinov bent his head, as though submissively receiving a well-deserved blow. ‘You have every right to be angry with me,’ he said. ‘You have every right to reproach me for feebleness ... for deceit.’ Tatyana looked at him again. ‘I have not reproached you, Litvinov, I don’t blame you. I agree with you: the bitterest truth is better than what went on yesterday. What sort of a life could ours have been now!’ ‘What sort of a life will mine be now!’ echoed mournfully in Litvinov’s soul. Tatyana went towards the door of the bedroom. ‘I will ask you to leave me alone for a little time, Grigory Mihalitch--we will see each other again, we will talk again. All this has been so unexpected I want to collect myself a little ... leave me alone ... spare my pride. We shall see each other again.’ And uttering these words, Tatyana hurriedly withdrew and locked the door after her. Litvinov went out into the street like a man dazed and stunned; in the very depths of his heart something dark and bitter lay hid, such a sensation must a man feel who has murdered another; and at the same time he felt easier as though he had at last flung off a hated load. Tatyana’s magnanimity had crushed him, he felt vividly all that he had lost ... and yet? with his regret was mingled irritation; he yearned towards Irina as to the sole refuge left him, and felt bitter against her. For some time Litvinov’s feelings had been every day growing more violent and more complex; this complexity tortured him, exasperated him, he was lost in this chaos. He thirsted for one thing; to get out at last on to the path, whatever it might be, if only not to wander longer in this incomprehensible half-darkness. Practical people of Litvinov’s sort ought never to be carried away by passion, it destroys the very meaning of their lives.... But nature cares nothing for logic, our human logic; she has her own, which we do not recognise and do not acknowledge till we are crushed under its wheel.