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PETUSHKÓV. Pity.
FÉDYA. Oh no! I never felt pity for her. What I felt for her was always
rapturous admiration--and when she sang! Ah, how she sang--and perhaps
still sings! I always regarded her as far above me. I did not ruin her,
simply because I loved her; loved her truly. And now she's a good, happy
memory! [Drinks].
PETUSHKÓV. Yes, I understand, I understand. It's ideal.
FÉDYA. I'll tell you something. I have had my passions, and once I was
in love with a lady--very handsome--and I loved her nastily, like a dog.
She gave me a rendezvous. And I did not go, because I thought it was
treating the husband shabbily. And it is strange that, even now, when I
remember it I want to feel pleased and to approve of myself for having
acted honourably, but I always repent as if I had committed a sin! But
in the case of Másha, on the contrary, I am always pleased--pleased that
I did not pollute that feeling of mine.... I may fall lower still, sell
all I have on me, be covered with lice and sores--but this jewel ... no,
not jewel, but ray of sunshine, is still with me and in me.
PETUSHKÓV. I understand, I understand! And where is she now?
FÉDYA. I don't know! And I'd rather not know. All that belonged to a
different life; and I don't want to mix it up with this....
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