Something grievous is awaiting me here. And, meanwhile, he does not come—he does not come!
"There are times when I doubt whether I am doing well to awake your mind so early, and raise doubts on all the points you were accustomed to believe in. I fear you may find such views an intolerable weight upon your mind, and lose yourself in the maze of my own sceptical musings."
With these words, Obojanski winds up a long lecture that tends to prove there is no such thing as a God, and that the soul is but a function of the body. I smile at his fears, which (I assure him) are quite groundless: I am not in danger of any doubt whatever on things fundamental.
"I now see that I look upon you as a friend, and talk to you about everything. I forget that you are a woman—and as yet all but a little girl."
And here the electric bell rings; its tinkle announces nothing out of the common to me!
"Who has come so late?" I ask, trembling all over.
"Roslawski, very likely. … He arrived
