The heart of the student expanded and quivered; both from the
beauty of the beatific morning, and from the joy of existence, and
from the sweet air, refreshing his lungs after the night, passed
without sleep, in a crowded and smoke-filled compartment. But the
beauty and loftiness of his own action moved him still more.
Yes, he had acted like a man, like a real man, in the highest
sense of that word! Even now he is not repenting of what he had
done. It's all right for them (to whom this "them" applied,
Lichonin did not properly understand even himself), it's all right
for them to talk about the horrors of prostitution; to talk,
sitting at tea, with rolls and sausage, in the presence of pure
and cultured girls. But had any one of his colleagues taken some
actual step toward liberating a woman from perdition? Eh, now? And
then there is also--the sort that will come to this same Sonechka
Marmeladova, will tell her all sorts of taradiddles, describe all
kinds of horrors to her, butt into her soul, until he brings her
to tears; and right off will start in crying himself and begin to
console her, embrace her, pat her on the head, kiss her at first
on the cheek, then on the lips; well, and everybody knows what
happens next! Faugh! But with him, with Lichonin, the word and the
deed were never at odds.
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