She doesn’t deserve to approach any classic, let alone Dostoyevsky. “What possessed me to choose a scene from Brothers Karamazov? Didn’t Vera warn me more than once? Didn’t everyone warn me? Was I overpowered by the demons of temporary insanity, and now it is too late, and now the only possible ending for me is disgrace and shame?” She works herself into sniffling and wailing, rubbing the tears around her cheeks. “Everything I’ve ever dreamed of, everything I’ve worked for is hinging on this scene,” she whimpers. “And it’s the wrong scene. And I am in the wrong role.”
