IV + 

The pain of the blow, the sudden and sharp humiliation that struck your very heart in one of the most joyful moments of your childhood, caused you to set up such a dreadful cry, in such a high-pitched voice, that the best singer in the world would have envied the reach of your register. Then you were silent for a long time⁠ ⁠… But, filling your lungs with more air, you raised your voice to an even higher pitch, and the crying continued. + 

Gradually, the intervals between your high and your low notes began to decrease, and the cries followed each other in rapid succession. Then you began to call for help and, with a sense of painful pleasure, play the part of the dying. + 

“O⁠—oh, it hurts! Mamma, I’m dying!” + 

“Never mind, you won’t die,” said I coldly. “You’ll shout for a while, and then stop all right.” + 

You still kept it up. Our conversation was broken off, of course. I was beginning to feel ashamed of myself. I lit a cigarette, without lifting my eyes to where grandma was sitting. And suddenly, her lips began to shake, she turned her face towards the window, and began to drum on the table with a teaspoon. + 

“He’s an awfully spoiled child,” said your mother, trying to appear perfectly fair, and resuming her knitting. “Dreadfully spoiled.” + 

“Oh, grandma, grandma, dear!” you were crying in the meantime, appealing to your last refuge. + 

And grandma had the hardest time in the world trying to remain in her chair. Her heart was flying to where you were, but to please your mother and me, she stayed in her place, looking out of the window and drumming on the table with her spoon. + 

You must have realized that we had decided not to give in, that nobody will come to allay your pain with kisses and to comfort you with love, to beg your forgiveness. Your tears, too, were all wept away already. You were exhausted by your cries, by your childish sorrow with which no human sorrow can perhaps compare, but you were not going to quiet down. It was plain that you derived no more pleasure out of your sobs, that your voice was hoarse, that you had no more tears. Yet you continued to sob and cry. + 

I could scarcely endure it myself. I wanted so much to get up from my chair, open the door, and, with one kind word, put an end to your suffering. But such an action would not have been consistent with the established rules of rational education, and with the dignity of a stern and just uncle! Finally you became quiet⁠ ⁠… + 