And how is it inconceivable, if I had managed so to corrupt myself morally, had grown so unaccustomed to “living life,” that I had dared just before to reproach and shame her for coming to me to hear “pathetic words”; and I myself never guessed that she had come to me not at all to hear pathetic words, but to love me, because for a woman it is in love that all resurrection, all salvation from ruin of whatever sort, and all regeneration consists, nor can it reveal itself in anything else but this.
