i
Ivanovich, what a horrible word this is? Pub-lic! ... This means
nobody's: not papa's, not mamma's, not Russian, not Riyazan, but
simply--public! And not once did it enter anybody's head to walk up to
me and think: why, now, this is a human being too; she has a heart and
a brain; she thinks of something, feels something; for she's not made
out of wood, and isn't stuffed with straw, small hay, or excelsior! And
yet, only I feel this. I, perhaps, am the only one out of all of them
who feels the horror of her position; this black, stinking, filthy pit.
But then, all the girls with whom I have met, and with whom I am living
right now--understand, Platonov, understand me!--why, they don't
realize anything... Talking, walking pieces of meat! And this is even
worse than my malice! ..."

"You are right!" said Platonov quietly. "And this is one of those
questions where you'll always run up against a wall. No one will help
you..."

"No one, no one! ..." passionately exclaimed Jennka. "Do you
remember--this was while you were there: a student carried away our
Liubka..."

"Why, certainly, I remember well! ... Well, and what then?"

"And this is what, that yesterday she came back tattered,
wet...Crying...Left her, the skunk! ... Played a while at kindliness,
and then away with her! 'You,' he says, 'are a sister.' 'I,' he says,
'will save you, make a human being of you...'"

"Is that possible?"

"Just so! ... One man I did see, kindly, indulgent, without the designs
of a he-dog--that's you. But then, you're altogether different. You're
somehow queer. You're always wandering somewhere, seeking
something...You forgive me, Sergei Ivanovich, you're some sort of a
little innocent! ... And that's just why I've come to you, to you
alone! ..."

"Speak on, Jennechka..."

"And so, when I found out that I was sick, I almost went out of my mind
from wrath; I choked from wrath ...I thought: and here's the end;
therefore, there's no more use in pitying, there's nothing to grieve
about, nothing to expect...The lid! ... But for all that I have
borne--can it be that there's no paying back for it? Can it be that
there's no justice in the world? Can it be that I can't even feast
myself with revenge?--for that I have never known love; that of family
life I know only by hearsay; that, like a disgustin', nasty little dog,
they call me near, pat me and then with a boot over the head--get
out!--that they made me over, from a human being, equal