replied, dwelling on each syllable. 'I think if I could interest myself strongly in something....'
'You want to fall in love,' Bazarov interrupted her, 'and you can't love; that's where your unhappiness lies.'
Madame Odintsov began to examine the sleeve of her lace.
'Is it true I can't love?' she said.
'I should say not! Only I was wrong in calling that an unhappiness. On the contrary, any one's more to be pitied when such a mischance befalls him.'
'Mischance, what?'
'Falling in love.'
'And how do you come to know that?'
'By hearsay,' answered Bazarov angrily.
'You're flirting,' he thought; 'you're bored, and teasing me for want of something to do, while I ...' His heart really seemed as though it were being torn to pieces.
'Besides, you are perhaps too exacting,' he said, bending his whole frame forward and playing with the fringe of the chair.
'Perhaps. My idea is everything or nothing. A life for a life. Take mine, give up thine, and that without regret or turning back. Or else better have nothing.'
'Well?' observed Bazarov; 'that's fair
