Anna hid her face in her hands and stopped speaking. 'Anna Semyonovna,' Aratov began after a short pause, 'you have perhaps heard to what the newspapers ascribed . . . "To an unhappy love affair?"' Anna broke in, at once pulling away her hands from her face. 'That 's a slander, a fabrication! . . . My pure, unapproachable Katia . . . Katia ! . . . and unhappy, unrequited love? And shouldn't I have known of it ? . . . Every one was in love with her . . . while she . . . And whom could she have fallen in love with here? Who among all the people here, who was worthy of her? Who was up to the standard of honesty, truth, purity . . . yes, above all, of purity which she, with all her faults, always held up as an ideal before her ? . . . She repulsed ! . . . she ! . . .'
Anna's voice broke Her fingers were trembling. All at once she flushed crimson . . . crimson with indignation, and for that instant, and that instant only, she was like her sister.
Aratov was beginning an apology.
'Listen,' Anna broke in again. 'I have an intense desire that you should not believe that slander, and should refute it, if possible! You want to write an article or something about her: that 's your opportunity for defending her memory! That 's why I talk so openly to you. Let me tell you; Katia left a diary . . .'
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