Character: Vasily Nikolaevich Lopatin

He looked at her, and think I started to understand what she wanted. Once before, she wanted that it was my fault that she left him for another man. Now she wished that he was to blame for the fact that it goes back to this person. That's all! She wished that she was right and he's wrong again. Although he tried to suppress the feeling, he felt sorry for her. The man, who all his life always and everywhere blames not himself, but others, in their unhappy too.

Returning, he still felt this sympathetic look. Only the first of many. Perhaps, others will assume that such middle-aged and ugly don't leave women. Women are moving away from them yourself. <...> It, then, for any other women. Now it will be only a present, middle-aged and not at spent his mental strength. And therefore do not believe in that part of ourselves that is not war and not a job. <...> ... with a sad face and woven, hands behind his back began to talk nonsense, vinosense in advance, on the road. In fact, it was a long Preface to the request to let her go with God. And it had some meaning before, in front of this, not now when he already let her go. But she was sorry to leave all these pre-cooked and now meaningless words. And he listened and thought, "No, she came here in the train still not together, and one - to rehearse all this nonsense, you had the time and solitude". She was talking about herself, always understood him. And him never understood. Their sacrifices for him. About how she next to him gradually ceased to be myself and now, without him, again feeling human.

- Can you guess why I came? she asked, looking up at him. She was still beautiful, and still it was impossible not to notice.
- No, not guess, ' he said.
It was the truth. My whole life with her, he almost could never guess what she will come to a head in the next minute.
I've come to request that you removed my sin and let me go - without waiting for a response, she said. - I have to marry Evgeny Alekseevich.
Said "come" not "came," probably, in advance thought over. Sinners do not come and come. He looked at her, her delicately twisted and sad in the chair, a familiar body, and refrain from rudeness, said: "Well, times have - and go!" Silent. In the end, what does it? Blame not her, but it was her body that he whole fifteen years loved against the intellect. "And could not break away from him, could not come off", - with contempt for his own weakness he thought about himself. She looked at him, and he was silent. It seemed to her that he is angry or, as she mentally used to say, "bites bit", he softened, amused by the thought of his own fault. Before irritated used to be considered her fault that he needed the body lived the soul of unneeded, is indifferent to what he lived and what he did, occupied only with themselves, and a something- stupid.

- My God! God... You, you, you are to blame! Myself, myself to blame. You blame yourself! You are to blame.
- Shame on you, Ksenia!
- I'm not ashamed! You were engaged only in their writings. Laughed at you. You hated my friends, and I grew old, I grew old!
- I was rusty, Xenia!

And let us, brothers, so: I'm not a victim, you are the defendants. And that will stand, sit and drink vodka. If you have it.