Turn the Page, Turn the Life | A Writer’s Battle for Survival | Help Her Win
Turn the Page, Turn the Life | A Writer’s Battle for Survival | Help Her Win

White Nights - XXV

White Nights - XXV

2 mins

She ceased speaking, and pressed my hand warmly. I too could not speak without emotion. Some minutes passed.

“Yes, it’s clear he won’t come to-night,” she said at last raising her head. “It’s late.”

“He will come to-morrow,” I said in the most firm and convincing tone. “Yes,” she added with no sign of her former depression. “I see for myself now that he could not come till to-morrow. Well, good-bye, till to-morrow. If it rains perhaps I shall not come. But the day after to-morrow, I shall come. I shall come for certain, whatever happens; be sure to be here, I want to see you, I will tell you everything

And then when we parted she gave me her hand and said, looking at me candidly: “We shall always be together, shan’t we?”

Oh, Nastenka, Nastenka! If only you knew how lonely I am now!

As soon as it struck nine o’clock I could not stay indoors, but put on my things, and went out in spite of the weather. I was there, sitting on our seat. I went to her street, but I felt ashamed, and turned back without looking at their windows, when I was two steps from her door. I went home more depressed than I had ever been before. What a damp, dreary day! If it had been fine I should have walked about all night. . . .

But to-morrow, to-morrow! To-morrow she will tell me everything.

The letter has not come to-day, however. But that was to be expected.

They are together by now. . . .


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