His unexpected reappearance, That momentary tender look, The strangeness of his interference With Olga—all confused and shook Tatyana’s soul. His true intention Remained beyond her comprehension, And jealous anguish pierced her breast— As if a chilling hand had pressed Her heart; as if in awful fashion A rumbling, black abyss did yawn…. ‘I’ll die,’ she whispers to the dawn, ‘But death from him is sweet compassion. Why murmur vainly? He can’t give The happiness for which I live.’
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