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Alyosha ran to the washing-stand, wetted the towel, persuaded Ivan to sit down again, and put the wet towel round his head. He sat down beside him. “What were you telling me just now about Lise?” Ivan began again. I said something nasty about her. It was a lie. I like her ... I am afraid for Katya to-morrow. I am more afraid of her than of anything. On account of the future.
Katya vaguely realised that he was seeking a sort of consolation in her company, and did not deny him or herself the innocent pleasure of a half-shy, half-confidential friendship.
Bazarov gave up talking to Arkady about Madame Odintsov, gave up even abusing her 'aristocratic ways'; Katya, it is true, he praised as before, and only advised him to restrain her sentimental tendencies, but his praises were hurried, his advice dry, and in general he talked less to Arkady than before ... he seemed to avoid him, seemed ill at ease with him.
Trirodov surveyed her with admiration and said quietly: "Katya, you are as handsome as always." Alkina was mistrustful. "It's true, isn't it, that clothes have too long cramped my body and injured the skin. How can my body be handsome?" "You are graceful and flexible," answered Trirodov. "The lines of your body are somewhat elongated but wholly elastic.
"Do you suppose I can work in a barn like this?" the artist said ill-humouredly. "And where should I get models?" Some one banged the door viciously in the storey below. Katya, who was expecting her mother's return from minute to minute, jumped up and ran away. The artist was left alone.
There Arkady left his companion in order to see Katya. Bazaroff, determined to cure himself of his passion for Madame Odintsov, made the rest of the journey alone, and took up his quarters once more in the house of Nicolai Petrovitch. The fact of Arkady's absence did not tend to improve matters between Pavel Petrovitch and Bazaroff. After a week the aristocrat's antipathy passed all bounds.
"Is it possible to be so ugly?" thought Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, looking at Olga and the official's wife; she glanced at Katya and thought: "The little girl's not badly made." "Your Nikodim Alexandritch is very charming!" she said. "I'm simply in love with him." "Ha, ha, ha!" cried Marya Konstantinovna, with a forced laugh; "that's quite enchanting."
KATYA SERGYEVNA, her sister. PORFIRY PLATONITCH, her neighbor. MATVY ILYITCH KOLYAZIN, government commissioner. VIKTOR SITNIKOV, a would-be liberal. PROKOFITCH, head servant to Nikolai. DUNYASHA, a maid servant. MITYA, infant of Fedosya. TIMOFEITCH, manager for Vassily.
But here Arkady's eloquence deserted him; he lost the thread, stammered, and was forced to be silent for a moment. Katya still did not raise her eyes. She seemed not to understand what he was leading up to in all this, and to be waiting for something.
She understands. My God, calm my heart: what is it I want? I want Katya! Do I understand what I want? It’s the headstrong, evil Karamazov spirit! No, I am not fit for suffering. I am a scoundrel, that’s all one can say.” “Here she is!” cried Alyosha. At that instant Katya appeared in the doorway. For a moment she stood still, gazing at Mitya with a dazed expression.
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