"
"It's impossible to argue with me; I can't," mumbled Nikolay,
lowering his eyes.
"I think," continued the Little Russian, "that each of us has gone
through that, each of us has walked with bare feet over broken glass,
each of us in his dark hour has gasped for breath as you are now."
"You have nothing to tell me!" said Vyesovshchikov slowly. "Nothing!
My heart is so--it seems to me as if wolves were howling there!"
"And I don't want to say anything to you. Only I know that you'll
get over this, perhaps not entirely, but you'll get over it!" He
smiled, and added, tapping Nikolay on the back: "Why, man, this is
a children's disease, something like measles! We all suffer from
it, the strong less, the weak more. It comes upon a man at the
period when he has found himself, but does not yet understand life,
and his own place in life. And when you do not see your place, and
are unable to appraise your own value, it seems that you are the
only, the inimitable cucumber on the face of the earth, and that no
one can measure, no one can fathom your worth, and that all are
eager only to eat you up. After a while you'll find out that the
hearts in other people's breasts are no worse than a good part of
your own heart, and you'll begin to feel better.
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