O Barbara Alexievna, I am undone¹—we are both of us undone! Both of us are lost beyond recall! Everything is ruined—my reputation, my self-respect, all that I have in the world! And you as much as I. Never shall we retrieve² what we have lost. I—I have brought you to this pass, for I have become an outcast, my darling. Everywhere I am laughed at and despised. Even my landlady³ has taken to abusing me. Today she overwhelmed me with shrill⁴ reproaches, and abased⁵ me to the level of a hearth-brush. And last night, when I was in Rataziaev’s rooms, one of his friends began to read a scribbled⁶ note which I had written to you, and then inadvertently pulled out of my pocket. Oh beloved, what laughter there arose at the recital⁷! How those scoundrels mocked and derided⁸ you and myself! I walked up to............