Sublime

O my brother!

but only of love and mercy on one side, and on the other of repentance and the desire to resolve some difficult question of the soul or a difficult moment in the life of the heart.

“Young women only die of broken hearts in novels, Charles. She died of scarlet fever.”

“Of old it was said: ‘And they began to speak against me many things and evil things. And I heard it and said within myself: this is the medicine of Jesus, which he has sent me to heal my vain soul.’ And therefore we, too, humbly thank you, our precious guest.”

He made no scruple to charge me with being in love;

Sergei Ivanovich, who knew like no one else how to add some Attic salt8 to the end of a most abstract and serious discussion

Now his remotest infantile reminiscences—the wandering mind of his father—the empty hand, and the ashen—the strange story of Aunt Dorothea—the mystical midnight suggestions of the portrait itself; and, above all, his mother's intuitive aversion, all, all overwhelmed him with reciprocal testimonies.

This puts us in an interesting state of mind. We don’t exactly know what to think of Olenka. Or, feeling so multiply about her, we don’t know how to judge her. The story seems to be asking, “Is this trait of hers good or bad?” Chekhov answers: “Yes.”