I must relieve my mind about this, come what may. No matter how many cigarettes I buy nowadays, I never seem to have any. No one besides myself smokes at home, so Sasha takes them to her wounded, no doubt. I can’t lock up my drawers from her, can I? At the merest hint today, she retorted, “You can go without smoking yourself, but I will take cigarettes to the wounded!” And she looked at me in such an uncanny way. It was not love, but hate I saw reflected in those dear eyes of hers. I grew cold all over, and a feeling of despair settled on my heart. I might have been sitting in the trenches on a damp day and some confounded German aiming at me. I shall buy two thousand cigarettes tomorrow and put them in every visible place to show her that I’m not mean. She ought to have understood that it was not a question of meanness. Ah, Sashenka, Sashenka! + 