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258 substantial fact, which hid in itself a very complete solution of the matter. It is clear that Kirsánof respects the Lopukhófs; then why did he keep aloof from them for more than two years? It is clear that he is a thorough gentleman; how did it happen that he appeared before them in the character of a boor? As long as Viéra Pavlovna was not called upon to think about this, she did not think about it any more than Lopukhóf had done; but now she thinks about it in spite of herself.

, unobservably, this discovery began to evolve itself in her mind. All the time there accumulated small, almost undistinguishable, impressions made by Kirsánof's words and actions, to which no one else would have given any heed, which she herself scarcely noticed, for they were only supposed and suspected. Slowly this question, "Why did he avoid them almost three years?" began to interest her mind. Slowly the idea was confirmed that such a man could not have stayed away from any petty grounds of self-conceit, because he is absolutely free from it. And, moreover, not knowing why she thought of this, still more obscurely and slowly arose from the silent depths of her life into her consciousness, the question, "Why am I thinking about him? What is he to me?"

And here, one time after dinner, Viéra Pavlovna was sitting in her room, sewing and thinking, and she was thinking very calmly, and she was not thinking at all of him, but of something quite different, connected with her household, and about the shop and about her teaching, and gradually, gradually, her thoughts were drawn to the matter concerning which, without being conscious of it, her thoughts were more and more often drawn. There came up recollections, little questions began to present themselves; they multiplied, and here they are in thousands, finding place in her thoughts; and still they grow and grow, and they go to form one question, the form of which becomes clearer and clearer. "What has got into me? what am I thinking about? what am I feeling?" and Viéra Pavlovna's fingers forget to sew, and the sewing slips from her drooping hands, and Viéra Pavlovna grew a shade paler, then she blushed; she grew still paler, then the fire touched her flushed cheeks. The next moment they were white as snow, and with wandering eyes she ran in to her