Soloviev did not
thwart her, and followed after, along those ways which her
instinct laid down. And it must be said, that during this month
and a half he had managed to become attached with all his huge,
broad, mighty soul to this chance, weak, transitory being. This
was the circumspect, droll, magnanimous, somewhat wondering love,
and the careful concern, of a kind elephant for a frail, helpless,
yellow-downed chick.
The reading was a delectation for both of them, and here again the
choice of works was directed by the taste of Liubka, while
Soloviev only followed its current and its sinuosities. Thus, for
example, Liubka did not overcome Don Quixote, tired, and, finally,
turning away from him, with pleasure heard Robinson Crusoe
through, and wept with especial copiousness over the scene of his
meeting with his relatives. She liked Dickens, and very easily
grasped his radiant humour; but the features of English manners
were foreign to her and incomprehensible. They also read Chekhov
more than once, and Liubka very freely, without difficulty,
penetrated the beauty of his design, his smile and his sadness.
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