He believed in the reality of that "cart" as he believed that I was sitting by his side, and he expected it that morning, at once, that very minute, and all this on account of his Herzen and some poem! Such complete, absolute ignorance of everyday reality was touching and somehow repulsive.
At last he left off crying, got up from the sofa and began walking about the room again, continuing to talk to me, though he looked out of the window every minute and listened to every sound in the passage.

Our conversation was still disconnected.

All my assurances and attempts to console him rebounded from him like peas from a wall.

He scarcely listened, but yet what he needed was that I should console him and keep on talking with that object.

I saw that he could not do without me now, and would not let me go for anything.